Death's Design
by Don'tReadMyStories
Summary: Jackson and several other classmates are taking a trip to Paris. After having a vision of his friends crashing on a plane, Jackson, along with a few others, gets off the plane. But one by one each person ends up dying. Flight 29 Down/Final Destination.
1. Packing

Cody Jackson set his airline ticket next to his suitcase on the bed. Then he looked at his computer desk and picked up a Paris guidebook, letting the next book, called _Death of a Salesman_, fall behind it. He heard thunder and looked outside to see a flash of lightning. Jackson-he liked to go by his last name-tossed the guidebook on top of the world atlas on his bed.

He was excited about the school trip to Paris, France.

"Jackson," his mother Barbara called. She walked into his room carrying a couple pairs of his pants, and carefully placed them inside of his suitcase. "Lex and George's dad just called. He's picking you up at ten tomorrow. And the bus leaves the high school for the airport around five."

His dad Ken leaned in the doorway. "How's my suitcase working out for you?"

Jackson looked over towards the suitcase just in time to see his mom reach out to tear off an airline baggage I.D. ticket that was attached from a previous flight. He rushed towards the ticket to keep her from taking it off. "Whoa! Whoa! Mom, you got to leave that on. It's like…the tag made the last flight without crashing or anything, right? So, it should stay on, or with, the bag for good luck."

"Where would you get a nutball idea like that?" Barbara asked as she ripped the I.D. ticket off the bag handle.

She looked at her husband, who shrugged. "I'm still here."

Jackson laughed, but quickly stopped when his mother glared at him.

"Seventeen, and on the loose," Ken started. "Ten days in Paris in the springtime. Live it up, Jackson. Got your whole life ahead of you."

* * *

The storm had ceased, leaving the room quiet.

A sudden breeze passes through the room. The propellers on the airplane model hanging above Jackson's desk begin to spin. A poster on his wall flutters. Continuing its path towards the bed, it rustles the sheets of a book, then his hair.

Even in his sleep, Jackson shivers from the passing cold. His eyes open suddenly. He considers where the breeze may be coming from for a beat and looks towards the window, which was closed. Then he turned towards the table fan on his desk, which is turned off.

Jackson, perplexed, turned towards his digital clock. It was one o'clock. However, the numbers flickered and appeared to read what looked like the number one-eighty. Jackson, tired, just turned over and went back to sleep.


	2. The Airport

The television monitor at the airport read, _"Flight 180 departs 4:25. Gate 29."_

There were thirty high school kids and four teachers waiting to get on the plane. Several parents were gathered in the airport make sure their kids had everything.

The airport P.A. says, "This airport does not support solicitors. You are not required to give money to solicitors."

Jackson gathered his bags, as does his best friend, Lex Waggner, and his older brother, George Waggner, standing before their father, Jerry Waggner.

"Alright, you guys got everything?" Jerry asked.

"Yeah," Lex said. "We're all set, Dad."

Mr. Robert Russel, the French teacher and leader of the class trip, waved his arms. "Les students, allons en France!"

"Does that mean go?' Jerry said.

Lex shrugs, and gives his father a hug. "I guess."

Jerry then gives his older son a hug.

"Atencion senores pasajeros. No es necesario contribuir…"

Jerry said, "I'll miss you guys."

Lex and George wave. Jerry pats Jackson on the back. "Take care of those two, Jackson."

As he keeps walking, Jackson called back, "I will. Don't worry."

The group begins down the airport and towards the check-in counter.

In front of the boys, a girl strides while reading _The Tropics of Cancer_. Her name is Melissa Wu. She is also going on the trip.

Readying his ticket and document, Lex flips open his passport, checking out his photo. "I didn't think anything could look worse than my yearbook picture."

"Now you know how I feel having to look at you all the time," George remarked.

The P.A. says, "Avis aux passagers…"

Mr. Russel stops the group. Excited, he cups an ear with one hand while raising a finger towards the public address system. "Entendez classe, qu'est ce que c'est l'announce?"

Everyone begrudgingly stops to listen.

The P.A. says, "Vous n'etes pas dans l'obligation de contribuer aux demandes des quemandeurs.

Nathan McHugh, with his hands tucked in his girlfriend, Taylor Hagan's, waistband says, "What the heck's he want?"

Taylor smiles. "Shhh."

The P.A. system says, "cher aeroport n'est responsible pour leurs activities.

Mr. Russel scans the group, looking for an answer.

Without looking up, Melissa says, "The airport doesn't endorse solicitors."

Mr. Russel said, "Tres bien, Melissa! Tout droit!" He continues leading the procession forward.

Jackson sighs, "Do we have to put up with that crap the whole time?"

A hand reaches out to gently detain Jackson. He looks up to find a Hare Krishana dressed in everyday clothes, but with his head shaved and a mark on his nose. "Death is not the end." Jackson, unsettled, is handed a small booklet.

Ms. Jory Twist, the feisty English teacher, says, "It will be for you if you harass my students." She places a hand on Jackson's shoulder, herding him to the other students.

The Hare Krishana says, "Hare Rama."

Ms. Twist turns back towards the Hare Krishana and mouths the words, "_Screw you_." Then she turns back around and continues walking.

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The ticket clerk takes Jackson's ticket, busily types into the computer, and checks his passport.

The flight information board clicks and rattles, grabbing Jackson's attention. He turns to see the times tiles turning.

Jackson doesn't hear the ticket clerk say, "I have a few questions for you this afternoon."

The time tiles continue to click and clack.

"Did you pack these bags yourself?"

Jackson didn't answer, the tiles still drawing his attention. The tiles settle on the word "_cancelled._"

"Have your belongings remained in your possession the entire time?"

Jackson nods absently, then turns back to the information board. The tiles settle on the word "_departed_."

"Have you received any packages from persons unknown to you?"

Jackson quickly runs the day through in his head and remembers the Hare Krishana, flashing the book to the clerk.

She smiled and leaned over the counter towards the baggage scales. Jackson follows her eyes to see a new airline I.D. ticket attached to his bag.

The clerk returns Jackson's ticket and passport. "Same as your birthday."

Jackson, puzzled, shakes his head, as if to say, "_Pardon me_?"

"April twenty-fifth. Four-twenty-five. Your birthday is the same as your departure time."

The information board clacks again. Jackson turns as the title settles upon the word "_terminal_."

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The ghastly green and reds of the x-ray monitors flash as carry-on bags go through the machine.

Nathan and Taylor cut in line. No one dares to protest.

"I can't believe they let him on the trip," Eric said, disgusted.

"His parents bought a ton of those trip certificates we had to sell just to get him out of their hair for ten days," George said.

Lex, excited, says to Jackson, "Dude, I totally worked the ticket clerk, so you're sitting next to Christa, and I'm sitting next to Blake."

Jackson looks ahead of him. Attractive, and they know it, Christa Marsh and Blake Dreyer walk, clearly out of his league.

"That's seven hours, and most of it is in the dark." Lex said.

The boys dump their change into a plastic bowl.

Lex says, "Dude, if we don't get someone going on this flight, we should just call Dr. Kervorkian and put ourselves out of our misery."

Jackson and Lex pass through the metal detector.

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The class is excited, waiting to get on the flight. Nathan and Taylor are making out. Christa and Blake are looking through Parisian fashion magazines. Eric eats a burrito supreme. Melissa Wu takes a seat, struggling to carry her Walkman, coffee, books, and cassette box. She places her stuff on the seat beside her, dropping a Paris guidebook on the floor.

An unidentified student, walking past, reaches down and picks up the book Melissa dropped, hearing a "Thanks." Then the student continues walking toward the observation deck.

Melissa looks at the open book in her hands, seeing a picture of a totaled Mercedes. She looks back to see who the student was, and notices that it was Jackson.

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It's raining. Jackson hears low rumbles of thunder.

He looks at the plane, which seems incapable of flying, and yet we unquestioningly trust our lives with this machine. Emotionless. Cold. Lifeless, and yet soon full of life.

"Dude," Lex says, let's take a dump."

Jackson says, "Why?"

"Dude, get wisdom. We're about to board a seven hour flight. The toilets in coach are barely ventilated closets. What if your body wants that airplane food out, so you go in the plane, and then right after you walks in Christa or Blake? You want them to associate with you with that reflexive gag and the watery sting in their eyes?"

Jackson took this into consideration.

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Jackson is in the stall next to Lex's. He hears John Denver's _Rocky Mountain High playing over the P.A. system. _

"_John Denver…" Jackson says to himself._

_He listens closely to the song. He hears, "He was born in the summer of his twenty-seventh year…"_

"_He died in a plane crash," Jackson says._

_An announcement over the P.A. breaks into the song. "Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for you patience. At this time we would like to begin pre-boarding Euro-Air Flight 180 to Paris through gate twenty-nine."_

_Jackson appears a bit tentative and pale when he hears the song again. "It's the Colorado Rocky Mountain High. I've seen it rainin' fire in the sky."_

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_Jackson's boarding pass is torn along the perforated edge and handed back._

_He looks down the passenger ramp, feeling like it's the point of no return. He hears thunder in the distance._

"_Has anyone seen Eric McGorrill?" Ms. Twist asked, scanning the crowd. "How'd we loose him?"_

_Lex nudges Jackson towards the tunnel. The three boys walk down the tunnel, passing Mr. Russel, who checks his list, counting heads. "Vingt huit, vingt neuf…" The boys catch up to Christa and Blake._

_Jackson looks out the ramp's side porthole window towards the back of the plane. He sees the enormous engine, the expansive wings. In the distance, behind the tail of the plane, a bolt of lightning flashes._

_He looks ahead, seeing the flight attendants greet the passengers. He's the next to enter the plane._

_Looking down, he sees a slice of opening from where the ramp meets the plane and notices how high up he is._

_He steps into the plane._


	3. Premonition

In the first-class cabin Jackson hears screaming. Looking around nervously, he sees parents trying to calm a baby down. In economy-class cabin, a young man in the first row slumps with Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis. A cannula is set in his nostrils, leading to an oxygen tank beside him. The kids sneak sympathetic, yet anxious glances at the man while continuing to their seats.

Jackson reads the over head compartments aloud. "Row 25. Seats H, I, and J." He climbs into the row, carrying his backpack. Jackson takes the window seat and reaches up to the air flow valve. It turns, hissing, air streaming full blast. He takes a deep breath of stale air and presses his face to the window.

He sees the rain fall. Gears whir as the ailerons are tested.

"Jackson?"

Surprised, he turns towards the aisle to find Christa and Blake.

Christa says, "Could you trade seats with Blake so she and I can sit together? I asked Lex, but he said he's got some medical thing."

He sneaks a glance at Lex, who is shaking his head "_No_."

Jackson shrugs. "Sure." In front of him, Lex throws up his arms, disgusted. Jackson climbs out of his seat.

"You're so sweet."

"Thanks Jackson."

He moves into the isle, making his way to Lex. He takes the window seat by him. Row 22 H.

Lex glares at him.

"C'mon man. Like you really thought she'd make out with you over Greenland or something?" Jackson says sarcastically.

"Because of you, I gotta sit here and watch _Stuart Little_," Lex said, motioning toward a mini- television hanging from the ceiling.

As Jackson sits, the tray table falls from it's upright position. He lifted the tray back up, but as he turned the latch, it breaks off in his hand. He briefly tries to jimmie the tray into position, then gives up.

Jackson's hand rises, reaching for the attendant call button. As his finger engages the button, it lights up orange.

The plane lurches. He looks out the window. The 747 began rolling out of the gate.

As he looks behind him, searching for a flight attendant, he sees Melissa, reading her book. Someone behind her leans against the window.

He lifts out of his seat a bit, searching for a flight attendant.

He hears a ping. Then the captain's voice comes over the intercom. "Flight attendants prepare for departure."

Jackson looks forward in the cabin. The flight attendants strap themselves in for take-off.

The engine volume increases in pitch and intensity as the jet begins to taxi. Jackson sits back with the tray over his lap.

He looks out the window. The right wing appears motionless as the tarmac and runway signs roll past it. The engine pitch rises. They whir as the jet gathers speed.

The window is a blur. The airport terminals streak past. The wings lift, angled as the plane leaves the ground.

His classmates cheer with their hands in the air. The trip has begun.

Jackson's annoyance with the tray situation dissolves.

He finally begins to notice the raucous reaction and settles back in his seat, slightly pushed by mild g-force. The upward angle increases. The cabin buffets, as if passing mild turbulence.

Then the cabin sharply jolts.

Everyone tenses and gasps.

Just as he clenches his backpack, the cabin bangs and rocks. The engines spool to a stall. Metal twists under extreme pressure. The cabin dips, angling sharply to the right.

Passengers scream. Unrestrained personal belongings fly across the aircraft. Oxygen masks deploy from the overhead compartments.

A prerecorded message blares over the P.A. with eerie calm. "Fasten seat belts. Put on oxygen masks."

Jackson's hands tremble as he reaches for the oxygen mask and places it over his face.

The engines resuscitate. Screaming. Whining.

Jackson checks out the window. The plane is on it's side, a slow, sick spin, loosing altitude.

He breathes deep into his oxygen cup.

The jet engines grind and whir, as if the craft was in the midst of a last-ditch effort to regain stability. The sounds are deafening over the passengers' cruelly hopeless screams.

Ka-Boom!!! A devastating explosion erupts across the cabin, blasting a five-foot hole in the fuselage. Human limbs and blood spray, craft and passengers torn to shreds. Dead students sit lifeless in their seats. Every unrestrained object flies to the hole and through the fire: paper, books, luggage, pillows. A parent and student clutch their seats in terror, screaming before they are pulled into the sky.

Wind. Screams. Dying engines. A deafening blare.

Jackson hears Lex scream beside him. His face is pale. He knows there is no hope, no escape as the engines die.

The cabin begins to tilt downwards…then straight down. Debris tumbles towards the flight deck, as if falling from a cliff.

Jackson is strapped to his seat, upper body facing downward towards the water. Fire, wind, and blood whip across him. A building whine crescendoes before a second explosion rips across the craft.

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"Jackson?"

Drenched with sweat, trembling in his seat, his eyes dart toward Christa and Blake.

Christa says, "Could you trade seats with Blake so she and I can sit together? I asked Lex, but he said he's got some medical thing."

Jackson turns, sickeningly disoriented. His eyes dart about, searching for evidence of the catastrophe. There are none to be found. Jackson blots from his seat, startling the two girls. He scrambles towards Lex, who looks at his friend concerned.

"Dude, what's up?" Lex asked.

Frenzied, Jackson climbed over his friend, on top of the seat. Jackson's panic alerts a male flight attendant who makes his way to the row.

He grabs the tray table latch before the vacant seat. It breaks off, just as before. Jackson, terrified, begins to hyperventilate.

"Is there a problem sir?" the flight attendant asked him.

Jackson's wild eyes convey "_No frakin' kidding there's a problem."_

_The flight attendant realizes this passenger is experiencing a serious episode._

_Directly across the aisle, Nathan and Taylor look at him with severe expressions. "What's your freakin' problem?" Nathan said, anger in his voice._

_Mr. Russel and Ms. Twist unfasten their seatbelts and rush towards Jackson. "Cody, Qu' est-ce se?" Mr. Russel said._

"_Qu' est-ce se? The freakin' plane's gonna explode!" said Jackson._

_Obviously, no one ever wants to hear that. The students tense._

_The flight attendant immediately turns to other attendants, signaling for assistance with a quick definite gesture. The attendants hustle towards the economy-class cabin._

_Nathan and Taylor talk at the same time. "Shut up, Jackson." Nathan calls him by his first name for intimidation, knowing Cody Jackson didn't like his first name. "You're not funny," Taylor says._

_Jackson, frenzied, begins moving towards the aisle. "We have to get out."_

_This frightens everyone. Not the 'prophecy,' but the panicky, irrational behavior._

"_We have to get off this plane!" Jackson says. "Now. Now!"_

_Jackson is desperately climbing over Lex, who is trying to calmly restrain his friend. Across the aisle, Nathan McHugh stands, ready to quiet Jackson…with force._

_Everyone is talking at the same time. Nathan said, "Sit down, Cody." "Jackson. Jackson! Easy, man. Take it easy," said Lex. "Sir, if this is a joke, we don't tolerate such humor," the flight attendant said. He restrains Nathan with an extended forearm._

"_I'm not joking! I'm not joking!" Jackson said._

_Ms. Twist and Mr. Russel move to the seats. Flight attendants try restraining Jackson from the aisle. "Cody, knock it off," Ms. Twist said. "It's alright." "Settle down, Cody," Mr. Russel commanded. "Listen to me," Jackson said. "This plane will explode on take-off!"_

"_Sir, we will remove you from the aircraft if this continues," the flight attendant said._

"_I'll remove him," Nathan said._

"_Screw you! I'll remove myself!" said Jackson._

_Nathan reaches for Jackson, who pushes back, trying to get out. Nathan responds aggressively, and now the flight attendant, Lex, and two teachers are in the midst of the melee. _

_The co-pilot arrives to secure the situation. He grabs Jackson, and begins forcibly ushering him up the aisle. A male flight attendant choke holds Nathan from the back. Nathan struggles but the attendant's positioning has the advantage. He begins moving Nathan from the plane as well._

"_He didn't do nothing," Taylor yelled after them. She followed the flight attendant, hitting him to help her boyfriend._

_Just arriving in the cabin, Eric McGorrill tries to fight past a stewardess to get to his seat. He is blocked by the mass of combatants as they are escorted out._

_The flight attendant said, "Anybody in the aisle is off the plane."_

"_No, wait. I was late. That's my seat right there," Eric said pointing to a seat in the middle row._

_Under protest, Eric gets pushed back off the plane. Mr. Russel and Ms. Twist follow the pack of students and airline personnel as they move toward the exit, calling out to seated teachers and parent while hustling up the aisles. "Everybody just stay where you are. Just sit tight." "Mr. Carpenter, keep an eye on things for a moment."_

_Lex watches, amazed and concerned for his friend. He looks across the cabin to his brother. "You should go with him," George said. Lex nods and walks down the aisle._

_Amongst the chaos, Melissa considers for a beat, then grabs her backpack, stands, and moves into the aisle to exit the plane._


	4. Explosion

Jackson, the co-pilot, Nathan, the attendant, Mr. Russel, Ms. Twist, Taylor, Lex, and Eric proceed down the tunnel. Eric is confused by the chaos. "I didn't do anything!" he said. "I have my ticket right here!"

Arriving security officers quickly have control of the situation. Jackson is taken to a seat at the gate and dropped there by the co-pilot, who, winded, eyes the officers. "You got this?" he asked.

The officers nod. One moves toward Nathan as he is dropped in a seat away from Jackson. Taylor sits behind her boyfriend.

The co-pilot and attendants start back toward the plane. Ms. Twist hustles over to them and an airline representative.

The co-pilot said, "No one gets back on board. That's my call."

Ms. Twist said, "Please. I got thirty students going to Paris."

During these negotiations, Melissa exits and takes a seat away from the others, aware she is unnoticed in the confusion. She looks at Jackson.

Lex and Mr. Russel are trying to calm him down. "It's alright. It's alright," Lex said. "You're off the plane. You're off the plane."

Rattled, Jackson attempts to compose himself. Ms. Twist appears, hurriedly pulling aside Mr. Russel. She said, "Airline's not taking this very well. They'll let one of us back on and the rest can grab a six-ten flight. Gets in two hours later at DeGaulle. It's alright. It's not that big of a deal."

"I'll stay," Mr. Russel offered.

"No, you know the whole French thing. Get on the plane," Ms. Twist said.

Russel understands this point and takes off towards the boarding ramp door.

Pleading his case, Eric follows Russel. "I was in the bathroom. The lock was stuck," he said. The airline personnel closed the door behind Mr. Russel. "But I didn't fight with anyone!" Eric yelled after him.

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Nathan, Taylor, and Eric watch out the observation window as the plane takes off.

Nathan turns over his shoulder, looking back angrily towards Jackson. Taylor wraps a calming and restraining arm around Nathan's shoulder, but he starts towards Jackson, who is seated with Ms. Twist.

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Lex races out of the bathroom with a dampened paper towel. He hands it to Ms. Twist, who is seated next to Jackson. The teacher places it on Jackson's forehead.

Lex said, "I called your mom and dad and they're on their way."

"Cody, talk to me," Ms. Twist said. "What happened?"

Jackson looks at Lex, who nods. His friend's expression is soothing and open.

With a lowered tense tone, meant for only the two people beside him, he began. "I…I saw it…like, I don't know…the plane took off. I saw it leave the runway…I looked down and saw the ground…"

Ms. Twist and Lex exchange concerned glances.

"And then the cabin banged, and the left side exploded. Then the whole plane…blew up. It was so real. Exactly how everything goes."

"Been on many planes that blew up, have you?" Lex said.

Good point. Jackson looked away.

"You must have fallen asleep," Ms. Twist suggested.

An angry Nathan stomped over. "We got thrown off the plane and blow a half day in Paris because Cody has a bad freakin' dream?" In a mocking voice he says, "It's going to explode! It's going to explode!"

"Screw you McHugh," Lex said.

"Lex…" Ms. Twist said.

With a raw nerve, Jackson stands. "Only trip you're gonna take is to the hospital."

Nathan scoffs while moving aggressively toward Jackson. Nathan makes a quick move and grabs Jackson. The two security guards rush in to break it up. Chaos erupts again as the two boys wrestle in the terminal.

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Eric, depressed as he watches the plane take off, says, "There they go, and here we stay."

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One guard restrains Jackson; another restrains Nathan.

Out of the observation deck window, Flight 180 lifts off the runway.

"You're paying for my trip Cody," Nathan said.

"I wish you were on that plane," Jackson said.

Out the observation window, the 747 headlights and taillights suddenly, violently, erupt into a gigantic fireball of flame.

It takes a second for the concussion to hit the terminal, but when it does…Boom! A window shatters. Chairs rock. People are knocked off their feet.

Stunned, Jackson turns to the window.

The unceremonious speed of obliteration of hundreds of lives is cruel as flaming debris plummets from the early evening sky.

Melissa is rattled and afraid, but aware of Jackson as she is the first to turn her eyes toward him. Eric walks back from the window, shocked by shocked step. Ms. Twist drops to her chair as her legs give out.

Alarms ring. The security guards tear off toward more urgent duties.

Outside, sirens wail as emergency vehicles race to the tragedy.

Lex's head turns toward Jackson, then Taylor's, then Nathan's. In the chair, beginning to cry, Ms. Twist eyes Jackson, as if afraid of him.

The sirens are piercing. The emergency vehicles' strobing red lights reflect in Jackson's eyes, now in tight, as he looks out, frozen with shock upon the doomed Flight 180.


	5. Interrogation

There is a long silence. A pair of airline representatives sit with the seven survivors, each numb with shock. Everyone is too raw with residual fear to show any emotion. They sit on folding metal chairs in an empty room, too bright from the fluorescent lights. Beneath their obvious trauma resulting from the catastrophe, each feels uneasy by Jackson's presence.

The others sit away from Jackson and Lex. Jackson appears wrought with guilt. He checks the others out of the corner of his eye.

Ms. Twist, Nathan, and Eric glare at Jackson. Taylor averts her eyes from Jackson to bury her face in Nathan's shoulder.

Jackson, frightened as anyone over what has happened, tenses, defensive and scared. With soft-spoken strength, he said, "You're looking at me as if I caused it. I did not cause this."

Ms. Twist, Nathan, Taylor, and Eric maintain their uncertain expressions with strained apprehension, as if not wanting to 'dabble in the occult,' but needing an immediate answer.

Ms. Twist broke the silence. "Is everyone dead? Are there any survivors?"

Jackson is taken aback by the question, yet even his best friend looks at him for an answer. "How would I know? You think I'm some sort of-"

"He's not a witch," Melissa interrupted Jackson.

Jackson, relieved and thankful, turns to her. Melissa looks back at him, not with fear or repulsion, but with knowledge of an unwanted but irrefutable connection.

Causing a startle, the door opens. Everyone's head whips reflexively toward the entrance. The strange event of the flickering lights is quickly forgotten. A half dozen men and women entered the room, displaying official badges and passes. All but two are dressed in casual clothing, having been called in from home: the pair being F.B.I. special agents Daley Marin and Abby Fujimoto. Howard Seigel and Don Hawks are representatives of the National Transportation Safety Board. Eileen Whale and Jack Arnold are members of the Euro-Air "Trauma Team"

The officials are sympathetic and calm, exuding the confidence and security trauma victims look for at this time.

"Hello. I'm Howard Seigel, National Transportation Safety Board vice chairmen. We've notified your families and they are on their way. Does anyone feel they need medical attention or spiritual counseling at this time?"

Ms. Twist reacts, snapping, "Have they found any survivors? What's going on?"

Seigel is calm, yet honest, carefully honest. "The cause of the explosion is undetermined. Nassau County authorities are on the scene. Naval search and rescue are en route." Seigel gestures. "And that's all we know."

The group slips deeper into despair.

Agent Marin said, "We understand how you must be feeling at this hour. And although we know it may be difficult, we must ask you some questions regarding today's events while it's still fresh in your minds."

The survivors dread the thought of recounting the horrible experience, yet collectively are ready to cooperate.

Agent Marin continued. "It may be valuable to our rescue attempts, or any potential…criminal investigation." The agents, F.B.I. badges displayed in their pockets, turn their eyes, suspiciously, toward Jackson. Jackson reacts, puzzled, as he realizes the agents are focused on him.

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Fujimoto and Marin are direct and professional, with no hidden agenda in searching for the truth. Seigel and Hawks from the NTSB are behind them taking notes.

"You said," Fujimoto checks his notes, "'Listen to me. This plane will explode on take-off.' How did you know that?"

Jackson looks up, nervous, not about suspicion toward him, but trying to explain what even he doesn't understand. He started, "I got this…feeling…a weird feeling…I can't explain it…"

"Did you take any sedatives before boarding, or on the plane? Sleeping pills?" Marin questioned.

"No," Jackson said. "I saw it. I saw it." Tears well as he grows frustrated trying to convey the unique experience.

Being trained, veteran officers Fujimoto and Marin observe and allow him to talk.

Jackson continued. "Not like a dream. More than that. I experienced the plane exploding…It was so horrible…I know what they all went through tonight."

The officers remain quiet, gauging his explanation.

"I'm not a psychic. I've never had this happen before."

The officers study him-unsure, yet careful. "Did this 'weird feeling' have anything to do with you saying you wished Nathan McHugh was on the plane…just before it exploded?" Fujimoto asked.

Jackson looks up, stunned. He didn't even recall this until now. "No!"

"Then why'd you say it?" Marin questioned without hesitation.

Jackson considers, owing them an explanation. Then he realizes. "Because…I…never thought it would really happen."

Marin leans forward. "If that's the case, Cody…why did you really get off the plane?"

Jackson considers this, confused and emotional.

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"My brother…told me to keep an eye on Jackson. He stayed…and I went to make sure Jackson was okay." Lex whispered, as if just now realizing, "He told me to get off the plane."

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"Robert Russel told me to get back on…but I told him to go." Ms. Twist pauses guiltily. "I sent him back on the plane."

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Marin said, "No one forced you to get off the plane. You told us you aren't friends with any that did…so, why did you leave the airplane?

Melissa looks up with total resolve. "Because I saw and I heard Jackson. And…I believed him."


	6. Realization

The survivors have all returned to the room. They may be a group, but they are alone with their thoughts. The door is opened by Ms. Whale. Jackson's mother and father lead a group of parents into the room. Each moves with grief, yet relief to their child. Barbara Jackson grabs hold of her son and holds him tight. The mother begins to cry. Ken Jackson, eyes welling with tears, grabs Jackson's hand and squeezes. Jackson does not cry. While holding his mother, he watches the others.

Both Nathan and Taylor's parents are concerned, but do not demonstratively show affection. Nathan appears as if he wants to hug his mother, but he can't bring himself to betray his self-image.

His eyes move toward Melissa. She is alone and hurt that no one has come to take her home.

Jackson's eyes find Lex's father. Jerry holds his son, both of them releasing anguished tears. Through his grief, however, Jerry stares at Jackson with an expression of anger and accusation.

Jackson hears a crack of thunder.

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Jackson sits in the backseat of the car, leaning against the door, looking out the window at the store. Melissa Wu is pressed against the other door. Everyone is silent. Outside, the storm angrily rages. Jackson is unaware that Melissa is watching him, searching for some answer that she won't find.

She looks up. "Here's good."

The car pulls over.

"Thank you for the ride." She opens the door and flashes one more look at Jackson, but he appears unaware. She exits the car and shuts the door behind her.

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Jackson goes to his room, his parents following him. He clicks on the light, sending a soft, safe, orange glow across the room.

Jackson stands in the threshold of the doorway. His mother places a comforting hand on his shoulder.

He looks at the pennant on the wall. Mt. Abraham High School Fighting Colonials.

Looking at the pennant, reality finally sinks in. And the tears finally come. He begins crying, sobbing, as his mother and father hold him.

Outside, lightning flashes, and thunder rumbles in the sky.

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CNN broadcasts video footage of the disaster. Seat cushions and personal belongings float in the harsh floodlights.

It is late and dark. Only the pale light of the television spills across the living room. Ken and Barbara have fallen asleep, but their son remains awake.

Jackson's red eyes are locked on the screen, mortified. He hears a vicious crack of lightning and immediate thunder, as if call him to the window. He remains fixed on the television.

Jackson watches an image of Hell as jet fuel burns on the ocean. As if furious at the sight, thunder bangs.

He turns, stands, and moves to the window, pushing the curtains aside. It is as if nature is angry. Lightning bolts spider web across the sky. Thunder booms. A shard of lightning breaks across the front yard. Oddly, it does not make contact. In the split-second strobe of lightning flash, the bolt abstractly appears as if it were a hand pointing directly at Jackson.

Jackson, horrified, lurched away from the window considering what he has seen. Again, he hears the roar of thunder.


	7. The Memorial

"Twenty-nine days have passed since we lost our twenty-nine loved ones, friends, and teachers," the minister said.

Jackson, wearing a dark suit and tie, sits beside his parents on white folded chairs. His head is bowed, guilty and sad.

The minister continued. "As each day passes without a determining cause for the accident, we ask ourselves 'Why?"

Jackson raises his eyes and looks across the ceremony. Lex sits with his mother Linda and his father Jerry. Distraught, Jerry stares off blankly at the minister.

"Ecclesiastes tells us, 'Man no more knows his time than fish taken in the fatal net…'"

Jackson guiltily averts his eyes. Ken notes this and wraps a comforting arm around his son.

"…or birds trapped in the snare…"

Jackson checks over his shoulder. Agents Fujimoto and Marin subtly survey the area, taking notes. Although their eyes are beyond sunglasses, the tilt of their head indicates they are watching Jackson.

"…like these the children of men…"

Jackson turns away, tense. He looks at the minister.

"…caught when the Time falls suddenly on them."

Feeling eyes on him, Jackson looks up. Melissa Wu is actually sexy and a bit scandalous in her black dress. Still, she is off by herself, eyes burning at Jackson as if challenging him to challenge the words being spoken. Jackson self-consciously turns away, unable to face her, let alone the words being spoken.

"And so before we can heal, before we can escape the presence of Death Time, we must mourn and celebrate theirs with this memorial.

A student with a guitar and harmonica stands at the microphone. Without introduction, he begins Neil Young's "_Long May You Run."_

_The other students remove a cloth, unveiling a memorial sculpture etched with the names of the departed. The gathered stand and begin paying their respects to the memorial._

_Nathan and Taylor walk slowly up toward the memorial, Taylor holding a rose. Jackson gets in line behind them. Nathan knows Jackson is there, but will not look at him. "Hope you don't think, Cody, that because my name ain't on this wall…that I owe you anything."_

"_I don't," Jackson responded._

"_All I owe is these people," Nathan says, gesturing towards the sculpture with the names etched in it. Then he turns to face Jackson "To live my life to the fullest."_

_Jackson winces from Nathan's breath. "Then maybe you should lay off the J.D._

_Nathan has an angry reflexive reaction, grabbing Jackson threateningly by the forearm. Taylor immediately tries to get Nathan to release his hold. "Don't ever tell me what to do. I control me. Not you." Nathan and Jackson lock eyes, Jackson refraining from showing and pain caused by Nathan's grip. Taylor finally gets him to release. "I'm never gonna die." With that, Nathan moves on. Taylor, however, holds a beat, eyes Jackson, and gently rubs the area of his arm, as if this is the only manner she can extend her gratitude in Nathan's presence. As Jackson pats her arm, Taylor quickly moves on._

_Shaken, Jackson considers whether to move forward to the memorial. He steps aside to let the other go ahead as Eric McGorrill, who has finished paying his respects, spots Jackson and heads back up the line._

"_I took my driver's test this week at the DMV."_

_Jackson turns to him, incredulously._

"_Gotta seventy. Lowest score, but I passed. When I was done with the test, the guy who drives with you during the test, he goes, 'Young man, you're going to die at a very young age.'" He pauses a beat. He snorts, then with full seriousness, he says, "That true?"_

"_Not here, not now," Jackson pauses a beat. "Not ever."_

_Eric sighs and turns to leave, only to turn back around quickly. "If I ask out Cynthia Paster, will she say 'No?'"_

_Jackson flashes Eric an angry glare. Eric gets the message and moves on…for good._

_Jackson returns in line, moving toward the memorial._

_Jory Twist places a rose at the base of the memorial, then studies the engraved names as the students move past behind her. Jackson approaches, watching her as she reaches out with a trembling finger, touching the etched names. Linda Krauss…Thomas Lewis…John McConnell._

_Jackson stands near her, sympathetically, understanding her pain. "Ms. Twist-"_

_Her eyes filled with tears and fear. Jackson places a comforting hand on her shoulder, but she reacts quickly, pulling away from him, her eyes piercing at him. "Don't talk to me. You scare the heck out of me."_

_Jackson is shattered as the teacher moves away. _

_Lex faces the memorial. "Hey," Lex greets, still facing the memorial._

_Jackson notices Lex is in line behind him. He looks around for Lex's father, but doesn't see him. He says, "I don't want to sound gay, or nothing' but…I miss you."_

_Lex subtly nods and reaches out to the memorial. His hand moves across his brother's name…George Waggner. As Lex longs for his brother, he looks at his friend._

"_Me too." He pauses for a second. "But my dad doesn't understand. When he's better, you and me, road trip to the city. Catch the Yanks."_

"_That's a plan."_

_Lex nods. The two friends stand uncomfortably for a minute before Lex gestures to the podium. "I gotta go. This thing Ms. Twist showed me in her class, they're gonna let me read it. It says what I'm feeling."_

_Lex holds his friend's arm for strength as he passes._

_Melissa Wu appears in line, holding a rose. She looks at the memorial before her startling eyes turn to Jackson. Even away from these circumstances, Jackson would have trouble handling her intense maturity. As he begins to step away, she thrusts the rose to him. He looks up, puzzled. "Because of you…I'm still alive," she said. "Thank you."_

_Before she walks away, a camera flashes behind him. Jackson glances back as he takes the rose and she walks away._

"_We say the hour of death can never be forecast…" Lex stands nervously before the assembly, reading aloud with a sad, yet optimistic, resolve. "But when we say this, we imagine that the hour is placed in an obscure and distant future."_

_As Lex speaks, the sunlight suddenly turns to shadow. Jackson looks up at the sky. Within the deep blue, a single black cloud blocks the sun. Troubled, he looks back to Lex._

"_It never occurs to us that it has any connection with the day already begun or that death could arrive this same afternoon. This afternoon…which is so certain…and has every hour filled in advance."_


	8. Strangle

Storm clouds devour a waxing crescent moon above a modest home set amongst the edge of the woods.

A lone light glows. Jerry Marin has fallen asleep, perhaps passed out, reclined in his chair. Lex's mother is asleep on the sofa, balls of tissue on the floor. Lex enters the room and smiles at his parents. He picks up a glass and swigs the remainder of his father's scotch before moving off and climbing the stairs.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The table fan swivels as it distributes its breeze.

Jackson sits at his desk, dark circles beneath his eyes. Swamping the desk are printouts of internet web pages and newspaper articles concerning the crash of Flight 180, forensic engineer textbooks, and NTSB reports on past airline disasters. Jackson studies his mountain of research, increasingly obsessed.

A newspaper on his desks flutters, being blown by the fan, drawing his attention. He reaches out and grabs it. Headlines and photos report on the memorial service. He sighs, troubled. In one photo, Melissa is handing him a rose.

He closes the paper, puzzled by his reaction. He shakes it off, and throws the paper on the desk.

Jackson considers a beat, then pulls open a lower drawer. Digging through the mess inside, he finds his stash…an issue of _Penthouse_.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In Lex's bathroom, a toilet is beside the bathtub/shower, with just enough knee space to the counter cabinets when one lifts the toilet seat. Lex pulls his pants down and sit on the toilet.

A cold soft breeze causes the curtains to billow. It continues across the room, rippling across the shower curtain.

As the breeze passes Lex, he pauses, as if sensing, but not understanding. This is more than a wayward autumn breeze. He moves to close the window. However, the breeze makes its way to the door, softly pushing it closed.

Lex sits back down

As he flushes, the locking nut and water line pipe begins to slightly rattle. Drips of water stream from the tank onto the floor.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jackson flips the magazine open to a centerfold. Looking at the picture, the model's pose and expression tempt Jackson towards the momentary respite from his troubles.

He considers the reports on the Flight 180 crash, then returns his attention to the magazine. His eyes return hesitantly to the newspaper photo of Melissa.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lex picks up a razor blade from the counter. He looks at his face in the mirror. As if behind him, he sees a black indiscernible form, like a shadow. However, it's actually a presence incapable of reflecting light.

Lex whips around, but sees nothing.

A puddle forms from the dripping pipe line, creeping toward the heel of Lex's stocking feet.

Lex turns on the faucet, and grabs his toothbrush, squeezing the paste onto the bristles.

Beside the sink sit's the unplugged radio. He grabs the plug.

The puddle of water grows closer to his foot.

The radio plug is inserted into the electrical socket. He turns on the radio, hearing John Denver.

"And they say he got crazy once and he tried to touch the sun."

Spooked, Lex quickly turns it off, unplugs it, and pushes it aside.

The puddle on the floor continues to grow.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Odd how one can appear so erotic at a funeral.

Jackson studies the photograph, the notices the rose she gave him. Succumbing the guilt, feeling like the freak all teenagers believe they are, Jackson sets the paper back on the desk. He grabs the _Penthouse_ and turns, opening the desk drawer in order to return the magazine.

However, a loud bang turns Jackson's head to the window.

An owl has apparently smashed into the window, awkwardly flapping its large wings, then turns its head toward Jackson, large yellow eyes shining like an alien creature.

Startled, Jackson reflexively throws the _Penthouse_ across the room, pages tearing as it hit's the sill. The giant bird flies off.

The table fan swivels, a page catching in the whirling blades. Bits and pieces of paper fly around the desk. One lands on his leg. He picks it up and turns it over.

The piece of paper is torn in such a manner that the only letters remaining from the centerfold's caption are "_Lex_"

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lex pulls the shower curtain aside, revealing two pairs of Linda Marin's nylons drying on a retractable clothesline.

The puddle on the floor reaches his foot, causing him to slip and fall forward. The retractable clothesline retracts, whipping wildly.

Lex tries to grasp anything to keep from falling. His hand reaches for the soap dish, only to slide the soap off and onto the bottom of the tub, along with a bottle of shampoo.

The thin clothesline coils around his neck. The plastic anchor wraps beneath the cord, essentially creating a noose.

He slips again, and falls against the back wall of the shower stall, pulled by the retracting wire. He kicks with his feet, desperately trying to gain a footing.

Quickly, reflected in the chrome, the dark shadow approaches.

Lex's feet slip in the slick shampoo and water. His eyes flare, blood vessels burst. He groans, attempting to call out. The bathroom door is closed.

Lex's parents remain asleep. From the living room, a faint muffle can be heard.

Lex's hands tear at his flesh, desperately trying to pull the cord from his neck.

His eyes dart toward the counter, where a pair of nose-hair scissors lay. Choking, gasping, face turning purple, he reaches for them. The scissors are sadistically out of reach.

Suspended by the cord, propped against the back wall of the shower stall, his bluish purple tongue grotesquely juts from his mouth.

Lex's feet kicked upon the slippery basin. After a beat…they stop. And his body relaxes.

The puddle of water eerily retreats from the floor, slipping back toward the toilet, and, like a murderer, slips out of the night.

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Siren lights whirl and flash. In front of the Marin house sit's a paramedic's vehicle, a Sullivan County, N.Y. sheriff's patrol car, and an unmarked sedan.

Cody Jackson races down the sidewalk, sweating, out of breath, a horrified expression on his face as he takes in the scene before him.

Agents Fujimoto and Marin stand in the front yard. Fujimoto subtly directs Marin's attention toward Jackson.

Jackson frantically moves to a paramedic. "What happened? Is Lex alright?"

Hearing this, Fujimoto and Marin turn to one another, with an expression suggestion a deepening suspicion.

Jackson sees the officers. Assuming they are sympathetic to his concern, he starts toward them.

"Jackson!" He hears his name being called. He stops, and looks around. Behind the tree, and in the shadows of the adjacent house, stands Melissa Wu. "Get outta here!" she warned.

Jackson is stunned. But before he can ask a question, a metallic clacking draws his attention back toward the house.

A conveyed gurney is rolled out of the front door by paramedics and an official with a jacket marked "_Coroner." Behind the body follows Lex's father. He pauses in the doorway as he spots Jackson in the front yard._

_Jackson is pale, nauseous. His eyes follow his friend's dead body as it rolled toward the paramedic's vehicle._

_Lex's father approaches Jackson. The agents stand nearby._

"_What…what happened?" Jackson asked._

_Mr. Waggner glares at Jackson, accusingly. "Didn't you…'see' it?"_

_Jackson is stunned, guilty. He averts his eyes. Fujimoto and Marin note this reaction._

_Mr. Waggner continues. "Couldn't you 'predict' it? Couldn't you read his mind?"_

_Jackson remains silent for a beat, hurt. "Mr. Waggner-"_

"_You caused Lex so much guilt over George staying on the plane that…" He breaks down. "He took his own life."_

_Jackson is stunned, defensive. "He wouldn't do it.!"_

_Mr. Waggner turns toward the paramedic's van, as if saying "There's the proof."_

"_He…he told me we would be friends again after you got better. After you got over George. Why would he make plans for the future if he were planning on killing himself?"_

"_All my wife and I will ever know is we wouldn't have lost our youngest son…if you'd told our oldest to get off the plane."_

_Jackson is rocked as if having taken a punch to the face. Mr. Waggner begins to walk toward the paramedic's vehicle. Jackson eyes the F.B.I. agents, who, after studying for a beat, turn and move toward their vehicle._

_The gathered spectators begin whispering to one another, clearly about Jackson, causing him to search for, what appears to be, his only ally, Melissa Wu._

_He looks back toward the tree that Melissa once stood behind, but she wasn't there._

_Everyone has moved away from Jackson, leaving him very alone. His eyes remained locked on the paramedic's vehicle. The ambulance doors close on the body of his best friend._


	9. Visit

A soft summer breeze passes through the leaves on a tree. A yellow leaf drops from a branch, and flutters to the ground, until it lands upon an old cracked sidewalk. Jackson stares at the leaf with an expression reminiscent of the torn paper's message about Lex.

"Almost autumn," he hears someone say.

Jackson looks off towards a small unkept house, nestled at the edge of the woods. In the open garage stands Melissa Wu amongst cluttered artwork, supplies, and tools. Her t-shirt's sleeves have been cut off and neck-line cut low. Her jeans have a revealing hole at the spot which once was a back pocket. She wears heavy black work shoes. A dog rests nearby on the floor.

"It's only the end of June."

"Yeah," Melissa shrugs. "But everything's always in transition. If you focus, even now, one week into summer, you can feel autumn coming." She pauses. "Almost like being able…to see the future."

Jackson reads her intention loud and clear. Melissa returns to her artwork. The dog growls softly as Jackson approaches the garage.

Entering the garage, Jackson gets a closer look at Melissa's artwork. It's abstract sculpture and canvas work, and pretty bad, at that.

"Know what this is?" Melissa asked, gesturing for him to approach her.

He tenses, awkward, but moves closer. Melissa lifts a plastic cover off a canvas. Beneath is a mess of green and brown and orange. Teen angst is poorly communicated. Glued to the center is a twisted piece of metal.

"Like, um…you're mad about something?"

She sighs. "Thanks a lot."

Then proud, but not enough to make her appear foolish over her bad artwork, Melissa indicates the metal.

"A piece of debris…from the plane. I went to shore off the crash site and it washed up on the beach."

"You went there?" Jackson said. "I wanted to go there, but I thought it was off limits."

"It is. But that didn't stop me. Shouldn't stop you."

Jackson gently touches the piece of the plane, almost expecting to feel something more than cold metal. He looks to Melissa.

"Why were you there last night?" he questions.

While she cleans brushes with a can of turpentine, she says, "Look, I've seen enough television to know the F.B.I. doesn't investigate teen suicides. But they were there last night, which means: one, they still don't have a clue what caused the crash. Or two, they haven't ruled out anything. And the fact that seven people got off the plane is weird enough, not to mention, that one of those people had a vision, or whatever, of it exploding minutes before it actually did explode, is highly suspicious. And it doesn't help that the visionary's friend just committed suicide."

Jackson eyed her for a long time. Melissa turns away from him, returning a can of turpentine to a shelf.

"Why were you there last night?" he asks again.

Melissa turns to Jackson. The two couldn't appear more different. She moves to an ugly black and green globular sculpture with a white dot in the center. "Know what this is?"

Jackson cocked his eyebrows, probably thinking "_a mess_?" but tactfully shakes his head "_no_."

"It's you."

Remaining dry and stoned-faced, Jackson tenses, uncomfortable.

"Not a likeness," she continues. "It's how you make me feel, Jackson."

"I'm…really sorry."

"Like you, the sculpture doesn't know what, or why, it is. Reluctant to take form," she explains. "And, yet, creating and absolute, but incomprehensible attraction."

Uncertain, and yet moved, Jackson listens.

"Before that day, you were just another suburban nothing that would never have anything to do with my life. And I'm sure you thought I was some Marilyn Manson body-pierced freak, or whatever," she pauses a beat before continuing. "But at that moment…on the plane…I felt what you felt. I didn't know where all those emotions were coming from until you started freaking out."

Jackson sighs, embarrassed.

"I didn't see what you saw, but I felt it. Okay, I'm not into all that _X-Files bullcrap…but it was a psychic connection. Why to me? Why to you?"_

_Jarred, he eyes her, frightened._

"_And you can still feel it, can't you? Something from that day is still with you. I know because I can still feel you."_

_Jackson is increasingly uncomfortable with the subject, but eased by Melissa's apparent, somewhat, understanding, tone._

_Lowering her tone, she says, "That's why I was there last night."_

"_I've never dealt with death before. I wasn't alive when my grandparents died. I wish I could know. I mean, all this…could just be in our heads. Now it feels like it's everywhere."_

"_It?" Melissa asked._

"_What if Lex…is just the first…of us?" Jackson said._

_The idea sends a shot of apprehension through Melissa. "Is that something you're 'feeling?'"_

"_I don't know," Jackson said. "I wish I could just see him…one more time, then, maybe, I would know."_

"_Then lets go see him."_

_Jackson reacts, shocked and yet her impulsiveness is exciting._


	10. The Morgue

The dim light, spilling through the stained glass windows, falls upon the paisley carpet, where dust-covered floor model coffins and urns sit. On the ceiling is a stained glass skylight, where two silhouettes appear: Jackson and Melissa.

The skylight hinges crack open. Melissa leads the way, lifting the frame, then dropping it through the skylight window.

Jackson is not as smooth as his socius criminus. Using his knee to slow his decent, he hangs from the sill for a moment before dropping to the carpet.

The unsettling reception area is full of plastic flowers, gold candelabra, plaster cherubs, and angels. A bronze plaque identifies "Mt. Abraham Funeral Home. The Journey's End. Ian Milbauer-Intermediary."

"Gives me a rush," Melissa whispered.

"This place?!" Jackson asked, thinking she was crazy.

"Doin' something I'm not supposed to," Melissa said.

_She _is_ crazy_, Jackson thought.

With a hot, mischievous smile, Melissa proceeds toward the hallway. Jackson anxiously sighs, then follows.

An elevator with a collapsible metal door lowers. Pushing the door aside, Jackson and Melissa proceed into the hallway, lined with morgue green tile. Stainless steel gurneys and porcelain equipment holding yellow surgical tubing and thick foot-long needles sit in the corridor.

A faint light spills from beneath a doorway. Melissa reaches out to the knob but Jackson quickly grabs her hand. From a cart behind them, he pulls a latex glove out of a box and snaps it on.

"Good call," Melissa said. "Very 'Quincy.'"

Jackson tries the doorknob. Locked. He looks at her, defeated. Melissa quickly points to some mortician's tools in the cart.

From it, Jackson produces a thin six-inch needle. He inserts the tool in the lock and jimmies the doorknob. The hear a clacking sound.

A lone desk lamp shines. Across the room, laying on a porcelain table, fluid draining tubes attached, lies Lex. A sheet is pulled up to his shoulders. He carries the macabre appearance of a corpse having been made up by a mortician. Hair combed and sprayed, skin tone too orange, blush too rouge, and lips too red.

As Jackson and Melissa approach, Jackson says, "That…him?"

"I think. But why'd they make him up like…Michael Jackson?"

"That's him, but…he's not here," Jackson said. "That…whatever…that whatever made him Lex is gone."

Suddenly, Lex jerks, his hand lifting four inches.

Melissa and Jackson speak at the same time.

"Ahhh! Dang! You freakin' butthole. You think this is funny? Lex, if you're not dead, I'm gonna freakin' kill you," Jackson said.

"Ohmygosh! Ohmigosh! Ohmygosh! Is he still alive?" Melissa said.

"Please don't yell," they hear a voice say.

Both are jolted again with shock, turning toward the voice: a man dressed in a dark suit and tie.

"You'll wake the dead," said Ian.

He flashes a dry mortician smile, pleased by his wan pun. Jackson and Melissa haven't recovered from the corpse's actions to calmly address Ian.

"Why…?" Jackson couldn't finish his question so he raises his hand, imitating Lex's dead body.

Ian nods, understanding. "Chemicals in the vascular flush create cadaver spasm."

As the startle of the situation settles, it dawns on Jackson that they have been busted. He nervously offers an explanation.

"I'm…a friends of his. His best friend. See, his father…"

Ian said ominously, "I know who you are."

The mortician eyes Jackson, understanding. Jackson senses this and eases. Melissa moves towards Lex's body, examining the neck area.

She said, "They said he hung himself, but there's no marks."

"I crafted a reconstruction of the laryngeal prominence region with Velvetone Surgical Wax and Permaseal."

Melissa moves in for a closer look, then calls Jackson over to the body. After a beat of reluctance, Jackson looks at Lex's neck.

"What are all those tiny marks?" he asked.

The wounds have been filled with wax and covered by greasepaint. At this proximity, however, it is apparent tiny cuts line the area above and below the large cut made by the wire.

Ian said, "Cuticle lacerations."

"Why would he pull at the wire if he were committing suicide?" Jackson said.

"Why would they say it was a suicide…if it wasn't?" Melissa said.

Because of the supernatural "message" he received, Jackson is reluctant to answer. He eyes Ian, who, with a wry half smile, eyes Jackson as if aware of the reason behind his hesitation.

"His father's pretty screwed up with denial. Maybe he couldn't deal with the thought of another accident…taking another son," Jackson said.

"In Death…" Ian started.

The mortician's environment, lit with Fritz Lang shadows, Ian's tone, appearance-he could easily be mistaken for personification of the subject.

"…there are no accidents. No coincidences. No mishaps." Ian smiles. "And no…escapes."

"You sayin' Lex did kill himself?" Jackson said.

Ian moves to Lex on the draining table, disconnecting the tubes connecting the body to the embalming chemicals.

"Suicide. Murder. Plane crash. What does it matter? He was going to end someday. From the minute you were cut loose from the womb…it's a one way ticket on a trip to the tomb."

Vile liquid oozes out of the body onto the porcelain table.

"You may not realize it, but we're all just a mouse that a cat has by its tail. Every single move we make, from the mundane to the monumental…the red light we stop at, or run; the people we have sex with, or won't with us; the airplane we ride, or walk out of…it's all apart of Death's sadistic design leaning to the grave."

"Design?" Jackson said.

The mortician considers as he drains some yellowish-green fluid from the table. He shrugs, the continues his work.

"If life is like a box of chocolates…Death…Death is like a big Milton Bradley game of "Mouse Trap." The day you're born is just the boot, hanging from the streetlamp, kicking the marble to get things rolling. Growing up is only the marble rolling down the curving chute. You feel immortal having survived school, sex, drugs, rock 'n' roll, but you've really only upset the big hand holding the steel ball that falls onto the bathtub. Marriage and kids and career seem to make it all worthwhile until the ball hit's the see-saw and flips the diving man into the big barrel. In the old folks home or the hospital you just see the big cage rattling down until it captures…the mouse." Ian pauses a beat. "Game over."

Jackson considers as Melissa eyes him, conveying "_This guy's whacked!" Jackson moves toward Ian._

"_Maybe there's no way to win…but…if you figure out the game…you knew where the 'steel ball was rolling,' couldn't you avoid the trap and extend the playing time? Couldn't you cheat Death at Its own game?"_

_Ian looks directly at Jackson. "You already did that by walking off the plane. Now you gotta figure out when and how it'll come back at you. He pauses a beat. "Play your hunch, Jackson. If you think you can get away from it." Another beat. "But beware the risk of cheating the plan, disrespecting the design…could indicate a horrifying fury that would terrorize even the Grim _

_Reaper." Another beat. "And you don't even want to screw with that Mack Daddy."_

_Jackson's eyes are locked on Ian's chilling, pleasant smile. The mortician yanks on a tube, revealing a foot long needle removed from Lex's spinal column. The horrific nature of death is vividly demonstrated to Jackson._

"_I'm sorry we broke in," Jackson said._

"_No harm. No foul," Ian said._

_Jackson grabs Melissa's arm, starting toward the door._

"_We didn't find what we were looking for," she said._

_Jackson looks at Ian. "Yeah, we did."_

_The mortician is pleased the message has been received. "I'll see you soon."_


	11. Paranoia

Braking loudly, startlingly, a public bus stops, and its doors hiss open.

"The mortician was whacked," Melissa said.

Jackson and Melissa step off the bus and onto the street.

"He was trippin' on formaldehyde," she continued.

Melissa starts up the street, but Jackson grabs her arm and steps back, assuring the bus moves on safely. He nods, as if saying "_It's safe to go_." His eyes search for anything potentially deadly.

"He said Death has a design. Even before he said that, I had been seeing patterns."

In a sarcastic tone, Melissa says, "As in flannels and plaids?"

Up ahead, scaffolds rise before a building being restored. Hammering and constuction work pound above. After a thumbs-up motion from a worker to another, tools and metal spikes are pulled up by a rope.

"How many died on Flight 180?" Jackson said. "From our group?"

"Twenty-nine," Melissa answered.

"Remember the gate number?"

As Melissa takes a moment to consider, Jackson steers them well around the scaffolds, eyes skyward during the move.

"No," Melissa finally replies.

"Twenty-nine." This is a creepy fact.

Even though they're past the construction, Jackson checks over his shoulder to assure they are out of harm's way.

"Remember the departure time?" he asked.

"Like…four-twenty-five?" Melissa said.

Reaching an intersection, Jackson pushes the pedestrian traffic light button, then steps well away from the curb. The halting red hand on the pedestrian signal lights up.

"Do you know when I was born?" Jackson said.

Melissa sighs, growing impatient with Jackson. "Four-twenty-five?" She guessed.

"Right. April twenty-fifth."

"Wait. I thought you meant the time of your birth. Four-twenty five, as in, month and day? That's a reach."

On the traffic signal, the halting red hand turns into a little white walking man. Melissa takes a step off the sidewalk and onto the street. Jackson tugs her back, looking both ways while outraged by her challenge.

"My birthday is the same as the time I was meant to die! That's a reach?!"

Vroom! A car makes a right, tearing through the intersection. Once past, Jackson takes Melissa by the arm and hustles them across the street.

"You're sounding like those people who, you know…'Oswald shot Kennedy from a warehouse and hid in a theatre, and Booth shot Lincoln in a theatre and hid in a warehouse.'"

An unmarked sedan is parked across and down from a Starbucks with outdoor seating. Fujimoto and Marin sit unnoticed, eyes coolly locked on Jackson and Melissa. Eric McGorrill rides toward the Starbucks on his bike. Sitting outside the Starbucks, Jackson hunches over the table, increasingly anxious. Melissa listens, expression skeptical.

"I'm not just layin' down a bunch of math here, with this. I'm talking about indications…omens…that day, that we were meant to die. That, if we have been aware of…would have saved everyone on the plane."

Melissa speaks up. "That's total bullcrap. You can find death omens anywhere you want to." She picks up her paper coffee cup. "Hey, look! Coffee starts with a 'C' and ends with an 'E.' So does the work 'choke!' We're going to choke to death! Oh no! Starbuck was a whaler. We're going to be harpooned!"

Jackson angrily glares at Melissa.

She drops her tone. "You'll go nuts if you start with that crap."

Ms. Twist appears from around the corner. She starts toward the entrance, but pauses, tensing when she sees Jackson.

He cautiously flashes a greeting smile. The teacher, however, averts her eyes and continues into the coffee shop. Jackson sighs guiltily. Melissa sympathizes with both of them.

"She's leaving the school," Melissa says. "Moving away."

Jackson studies, appealing to her.

"Melissa, how do we know that by just sitting here, breathing this air or sipping the coffee, having crossed the street…we haven't started in motion the events that will lead to our death? Fifty years from now. Ten years. Tomorrow." He pauses a beat. "You don't unless…you're able to open yourself to the signs I'm willing to show you."

He leans forward, removing a piece of paper from his pocket. He slides it across the table. Removing his hand, he reveals the piece of paper reading '_Lex.' Melissa takes the paper. As she raises it, her expression is puzzled. As she eyes Jackson for an explanation, a slight approaching breeze knocks some empty paper cups on the table over._

_A somewhat cherry '70's muscle car speeds in the direction of the Starbucks. Nathan McHugh is driving. Taylor Hagan rides shotgun. Nathan looks out the window._

_Melissa holds the paper as Jackson explains his story about the sign before Lex died._

_Nathan scowls, his anger rising as he slows, staring at the perceived reasons for his problems._

_Melissa's eyes turn from the paper to Jackson, concerned about him._

"_I don't understand…did you see Lex die? Did it happen again, like on the plane?"_

"_No," Jackson said. "But it might as well be the same thing. This was a message…from someone, or something…hinting at the design."_

"_Jackson, on the plane…you must have experienced…some kind of hyper awareness. But here…you're suggesting Lex's death…and maybe our own…will happen because of…an active Presence."_

_Jackson nods, feeling she's understanding._

"_The mortician said Death has a design. Now…if you, me, Lex, Nathan, Taylor, Eric, Ms. Twist messed up that design, because, for whatever reason, I was able to see Death's plan…then we cheated it." Jackson pauses a beat before continuing. "But what if it was our time, what if we were not meant to get off that plane? What if it is still our time? If…It…is still not finished with us? We will all still die. Now; not later."_

_Troubled and deeply concerned, Melissa studies Jackson._

_Jackson continues. "Unless…we find the pattern. And cheat it again.?_

_Melissa sets the paper down, looking sadly at Jackson. "After hearing you, just now…I do believe…"_

_Jackson leans back and sighs, relieved._

_Melissa continued. "…that Lex killed himself."_

_Jackson is taken aback, hurt and angry. "Then there's no one left who can help me."_

_His eyes having never left Jackson, Nathan suddenly cranks the wheel hard to the left to make a tight U-turn. The car barrels toward him and cuts in front of Eric, who is still riding his bicycle. Eric swerves to the left, directly in front of an oncoming car. The car swerves right, as does Eric, avoiding a certain fatal collision for the cyclist. The oncoming car honks._

_Nathan's car pulls up to the curb. Oblivious to the accident he almost caused, Nathan gets out, strutting toward the tables outside the coffee shop._

_Taylor sighs. "Baby, come on…not now." But her boyfriend continues. She gets out and hustles after him._

_Their attention drawn by the commotion, Melissa and Jackson watch Nathan McHugh approach, followed by Taylor, who stops, irked, near the curb at the crosswalk. "Carter," Taylor calls._

_At that moment, Ms. Twist exits with an expresso drink. Sensing trouble, she has no energy or desire to involve herself._

"_Kind of have a reunion here," Nathan said._

"_Let it go!" Taylor said._

_Nathan steps before Ms. Twist, blocking her exit. "When are you moving?" he asked her._

"_A couple of weeks," she replied. She can't wait to leave. She tries to walk around Nathan._

"_We're losing our favorite teacher," Nathan said._

"_Look," Jackson said. "There's something you should all know."_

"_Jackson…" Melissa tries to stop him._

_Nathan eyes Jackson, continuing the taunt. He raises the volume to drown out Jackson's words and incite conflict._

"_Lived here her whole life," Nathan said._

_At the same time as Nathan said his comment, Jackson said, "This'll be hard to believe. Ms. Twist's eyes flash to Jackson, afraid of him._

_Again, Nathan and Jackson speak at the same time._

"_And now she has to move. All because of Cody."_

"_Listen to me. We may all be in danger."_

"_Shut up! The both of you!" Taylor said. The two boys stop their heated exchange. "They died! We lived!" Taylor paused a beat. "Get over it! I won't let that plane crash be the most important thing in my life. I'm moving on, Nathan, and if you're gonna waste your life beating the crap out of Jackson everytime you see him," she said, head and shoulders remaining angrily in Nathan's direction while taking a blind step off the curb and onto the crosswalk, "then you can just drop freakin' dea-"_

_A speeding bus suddenly plows right into her. Jackson, Melissa, Nathan, and Ms. Twist are splattered with blood before they can even recoil._


	12. The Pattern

Alka selzer fizzes in the glass while the phone rings.

Jackson has crashed on the couch, watching CNN. It's a tense recline. Red circles rim the lids of his eyes. He sips from the glass to settle his stomach.

Ken appears from the kitchen, handing over the receiver. "It's that girl…Melissa."

Jackson doesn't respond.

Ken sighs, then speaks into the phone. "He's in the shower, Melissa. Can I have him call you back later? Sure…bye."

Ken returns to the living room, concerned about his son. Jackson averts his eyes, stressed and ashamed. Ken sits nearby. "She's concerned about you." He pauses a beat. "I'm concerned about you."

Jackson turns his eyes to the glass.

"Why don't you want to talk to her…or me?"

"Dad…you and mom have helped me out, so much. But there's…some things I need to understand before I can talk…to anyone about it."

The father respects this young man's wishes. Ken nods "_fair enough_."

In the silent moment, Jackson can barely hear the television. The CNN anchor says, "The National Transportation Safety Board has a new theory tonight on the possible cause of Euro-Air Flight 180."

Jackson quickly grabs the remote and turns up the volume. A computer graphic illustrates the area of the lower fuselage.

The CNN anchor continues. "Deterioration of silicon insulation on an electrical connector to the scavenger pump may have leaked combustible fluids."

Jackson remains riveted to the screen.

"A spark in the fuel switch…"

The graphic zooms into the area in the rear right side, nearly above Lex's seat.

"That's Lex's seat," Jackson says.

He continues listening to the television.

"…may have ignited the fuel line. And proceeded to the fuel pump."

The high-tech computer image traces the path of the explosion through the plane. A red line representing the fuel line zig-zags through the body of the plane, making a sharp turn forward to the fuel pump, which explodes. Jagged lines show the direction of the explosion moving backwards toward the rear of the plane.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

In his bedroom, Jackson draws a 747 schematic and writes down hundreds of steps from the CNN computer image, yet accurate as Jackson's fingers trace the path away from the seats marked '_Me_' and '_Melissa_.' The path starts over '_Lex_,' then moves to '_Taylor_.' The line moves forward away from '_Carter_' toward the fuel pump. A corresponding jagged picture of the explosion back is reminiscent of the 'hand of Death' seen in the lightning on the night of the crash. It is a graphic demonstration of the arbitrary nature of Death.

Jackson is amped, intensely more frightened as he believes. "The path of the explosion…" he whispers to himself, "That's Death's design." It instantly, frightfully, occurs to him…he knows who will be next.

Jackson's finger quickly moves along the fuel line. After '_Taylor_,' the seat intersecting the path of the fuel line, over the fuel pump, is marked '_Ms. Twist.' _


	13. Burn

Ms. Twist is on the phone, wearing a t-shirt and sweats. "Some nights I'm woken up by the sound of my own voice, you know, inside my head, going, '_No, you know the whole French thing. Get on the plane_.'"

Moving boxes are stacked in the living room, an organized disarray of relocating. The house is old. It's been in the family forever. Dust marks the walls where framed photos and artwork were once displayed.

"Everything here reminds me…of sending Mr. Russel back on the plane." She pauses, letting the person on the other end speak, then continues. "Right, I'm hoping a change will help." Another pause. "I lived here my whole life and where ever I looked were great memories, you know…but know all I can see is Mr. Russel…those kids. Just looking out my own front yard…makes me feel nothing but fear."

Ms. Twist peeks out of the front curtains and looks sadly upon her front yard. Her expression altered, alarmed. A figure stands outside. It's Cody Jackson.

Ms. Twist steps unsteadily away from the curtains. Quickly, she says, "Laura, I gotta call you back." She immediately hangs up the phone and speed dials. "This is Jory Twist. I need Agent Fujimoto."

________________________________________________________________________

Jackson has moved closer to her house, remaining in the shadows. He checks for and passers-by. Being sure there are none, he creeps toward Ms. Twist's car. He visually inspects the interior.

As he kicks the tires, and unmarked sedan screeches up, doors opening.

Startled, Jackson turns to find special agents Fujimoto and Marin, standing in the street, back lit in the strong headlights of their car.

Fujimoto asks Jackson, "What are you doing?"

Jackson is nervous, but determined. He tells the truth. "Checking the airs in her tires to make sure they're safe."

The agents pause a beat of incredulity. The Fujimoto says, "Get in the car."

________________________________________________________________________

Ms. Twist is watching, peeking out of her front curtains. She sees the car doors close and the vehicle rolls off. She releases the curtains and steps back, feeling somewhat better, but still rattled.

The curtain billows, as if blown by a breeze.

Ms. Twist appears puzzled as she moves the curtains aside to find the windows closed. She is tense and uneasy.

________________________________________________________________________

Jackson sits behind a table in the cinderblock room painted police station green. Sitting across from him, with a good cop tone, is Agent Marin, while Fujimoto stands with a hard posture.

"I believe that…Ms. Twist's next."

"Next?" Marin repeats.

"Yes," Jackson said. "See, there's this…pattern…that's occurring."

Sarcastically, Marin says, "Oh, you've noticed it, too?"

________________________________________________________________________

Ms. Twist moves to a closet door, opens it, and clicks on an overhead light. Kneeling down, she tugs on a heavy box and opens it to check the contents. Her expression warms, as if recalling a far off memory.

"Oh…mom's favorite."

She slides a vinyl record album out if its sleeve and moves to the turntable on a shelf, thick with dust. Jory places the record on the stereo and sets the needle on the album.

Although spinning round and round, the bold letters on the center label of the record can be read. '_John Denver_.' The opening acoustic of _Rocky Mountain High_ has never sounded so eerie.

She listened closely to the music.

"He was born in the summer of his twenty-seventh year," she heard. Pleased with the feeling of a pleasant memory, Twist moves off.

________________________________________________________________________

Fujimoto moves closer to Jackson. "Where'd you get this 'pattern' from? You have another 'vision?' Maybe saw it on some television static?"

Jackson is insulted by the condescending tone.

"I didn't ask for what happened to me on the plane. You can make fun of me. You can think I'm a nut. I'm used to it. I saved six lives but the entire school acts like I'm a freak. Fine." Jackson takes a nervous breath. "I'm not suffering from post dramatic stress. I haven't developed a narcissistic deity complex. I'm not going Dahmer." He pauses a beat. "This just is. There's a pattern in place for you. And you. There's a design for everyone."

The agents study Jackson, who sighs.

"And I'm sure how yet…but I intend to break this one."

________________________________________________________________________

A set of cutlery knives held in a wooden block sits atop the kitchen counter.

Jory removes the chrome teapot from the stove and moves it to the sink.

John Denver continues in the next room.

Ms. Twist turns on the faucet, and pours water into the kettle. As she wipes the pot with a blue checked hand towel, she sees her reflection.

A dark shadow appears to cross behind her.

Twist turns. She looks about the room, only to find she is alone. Unsettled, she absently tosses the towel on the edge of the counter, which catches a knife blade held in the cutlery block.

Ms. Twist turns the stove gas on, adjusts it, however, the flames blow out. She pauses, nerves on edge. Her eyes cautiously move about the room, but find nothing that could have blown the fire out. She grabs a pack of nearby matches and strikes one.

She hears John Denver singing. "He left yesterday behind him. You might say he's born again."

She puts the lighted match next to the burner.

The flames re-ignite.

________________________________________________________________________

Marin sits across from Jackson, sympathetic, but professional. "Cody, you got our attention, at first, because you were under suspicion in the plane explosion."

Jackson tenses, but Marin shakes her head.

"I know you didn't blow up that plane."

Jackson sighs and eases.

"I don't believe you have magical powers. No one has any…control over life and death…unless…that person is taking lives and causing death." Marin leans forward toward Jackson. "Cody…can you promise me that no one else will die?"

"No…I can't. As long as I'm in here, it's outta my control."

The agents are taken aback by his answer, unnerved by his sincerity.

Marin sighs and looks to his partner, who sighs, frustrated, and turns away.

"Alright," Marin says. "Go on. Get outta here."

Jackson stands and, with no urgency, moves off. He exits the room.

"Kid gives me the creeps," Fujimoto says after Jackson is gone.

"We got nothing to hold him."

"I don't mean that." Fujimoto pauses a beat. "There's a couple of times, there…I almost believed him."

Marin considers, yet remains skeptical. "Sometimes, you give me the creeps.

________________________________________________________________________

The teapot whistles.

John Denver sings, "When he first came to the mountains, his life was far away."

Two tea bags are dropped inside a coffee mug of steaming hot water.

Ms. Twist picks up the cup, raising it toward her lips. She pauses, her expression turning tragic. On a reflex, she spins toward the sink and throws the hot contents into the drain. She sit's the mug displaying the logos of the Mt. Abraham Fighting Colonials down.

Ms. Twist trembles. She takes a deep breath, getting a hold of herself. "You gotta stop this! Stop this! It's just a stupid mug." Composed she continues assuring herself. "You're outta here. Pretty soon…you'll be gone."

She opens the refrigerator freezer, grabs some ice and a bottle of pure Polish vodka, then deliberately turns back toward the same mug.

The ice cubes plunk. The cold alcohol pours into the hot mug, which slightly cracks, vodka slipping out of the base.

Twist picks up the mug, oblivious to the crack. She moves off toward the living room, leaving a trail of alcohol.

________________________________________________________________________

Jackson exit's the police station, walking. He checks over his shoulder to see if he is being watched and increases his pace, legs whipping.

________________________________________________________________________

Jory Twist tears of a piece of plastic bubble wrap. She stands over her desk, placed against the wall. On her desk is her desktop computer monitor.

John Denver is still heard. "It's the Colorado Rocky Mountain High."

She pauses to take a swig from her vodka. Alcohol drips from her mug.

Unnoticed by Twist, fluid drips inside the circuitry.

Ms. Twist sets the mug out of the way on the back edge of her desk.

The remaining vodka oozes from the crack, pools, then drips off the edge of the desk.

_Rocky Mountain High _continues. "I've seen it rainin' fire from the sky."

The monitor cable is inserted into an electric wall socket. The vodka drips…drip…drips.

Ms. Twist pulls the monitor plug, creating tiny sparks at the connection.

The alcohol ignites.

Her back to the desk, Ms. Twist pours Styrofoam peanuts into the box.

Behind her, flames, almost supernaturally, leap up the wall and toward the computer monitor. Through it's vents, the interior catches fire, causing an electrical POP!

Ms. Twist turns, holding her sheet of bubble wrap, shocked by the flames.

On the screen of the computer monitor, the reflection of the approaching shadow passes before the monitor explodes.

A large jagged shard from the monitor flies into Ms. Twist's throat. Blood squirts from her neck onto the bubble wrap.

Her stunned expression is sickeningly numb from shock.

John Denver continues singing. "Rocky Mountain High. Colorado-oh."

Twist reaches up to reflexively pull the glass from her throat, creating a flood of squirting blood. She drops the glass and quickly stumbles toward the kitchen, blindly banging the turntable as she passes.

The needle skips, bumps, then settles, unmercifully at the start of _Rocky Mountain High_.

________________________________________________________________________

Jackson walks quickly up the dark street. Smoke wafts before him. He turns to see a man burning leaves in the backyard.

The breeze intensifies, lifting the burning debris. The smoke swirls around him. J Jackson senses the Presence and looks ahead.

Two dozen leaves mystically float past him, each on fire.

Jackson feels the taunting message and breaks into full sprint, passing through many of the burning leaves that break up into the bright orange cinders against the black sky.

________________________________________________________________________

The flames reach the coffee mug, igniting the trickling stream leading to, and away from, the crack in the cup. On the floor, flames ride the small trickle of vodka back toward the kitchen.

Jory Twist races in, desperately pressing her hand to her throat as she gurgles and chokes on the blood from the wound. She leans over the now red sink, turning pale from the blood loss.

The flaming stream shoots up the stove, lighting the burners.

Behind Ms. Twist, the stove erupts in flames. They jump, leap like a tiger, landing on her shoulders and hair, which catches on fire.

________________________________________________________________________

Jackson approaches the front of the house.

From here, nothing appears to be wrong, as he catches his breath, sweating, visually examining the house.

He hears a hoarse, macabre scream coming from inside. Jackson, stunned, races off toward the house.

________________________________________________________________________

Ms. Twist is on the kitchen floor, hair and sweatshirt aflame. She desperately rolls on the floor and manages to extinguish the flames.

On her back, on the floor, Ms. Twist is badly burned. Her open neck wound continues to bleed.

Blood pools on the floor.

In shock and moving on pure survival instincts, she reaches up.

The lower third of the hand towel dangles over the edge of the counter top.

Her hand grabs it and pulls.

The draped edge of the towel pulls over the cutlery box. The knives spill, out, entangled with the hand towel.

"Ms. Twist!" Jackson ruches across the threshold as Ms. Twist pulls the knives over the counter.

Half a dozen knives, from small, but small, cutting blades, to large butcher knives, cascade into Jory's body.

John Denver is still heard in the background. "They say that he got crazy once and he tried to touch the sun."

Her hands trembling, her expression horrified, Twist grabs the handle of the largest blade, trying to pull it out.

Jackson quickly kneels next to her.

She looks at him in shock, her eyes pleading.

Jackson gathers his courage. He places his hand on the handle of the largest blade. As he's about to remove it, a gas line erupts, creating a small explosion. The cutlery block is knocked off the counter. The block lands directly on the butcher knife handle, driving the blade further into Ms. Twist's body.

The shadow descends until her face, eerily peaceful, but lifeless gray, horrifically decays, flesh rotting, worms feeding on muscle until only a skull remains.

As Death arrives, Jory Twist's eyes are macabre focused above her.

Even as the blood squirts on Jackson from Ms. Twist's open wound, he appears to realize she is 'seeing' the moment of death. "Ms. Twist!"

Flames leap from the stove to the curtains, which catch fire.

Jackson grabs the knife and pulls it out. He quickly removes another, and another, yet there is no reaction from the woman.

Knowing she is dead, Jackson pauses with guilt. He looks at the knife in his hand., then realizes how incriminating this could appear.

In that moment, another small explosion from the stove brings Jackson quickly to his feet.

He drops the knife to the floor and races from the house.

His shoe prints are left in the mud.

________________________________________________________________________

Jackson runs with all of his strength from Jory Twist's home.

Eric McGorrill is riding his bicycle in Jackson's direction. He stops and gets off his bike. "Hey, Jackson."

Jackson appears unaware as he simply runs past Eric, who curiously turns his head to watch Jackson race up the street.

Eric hears the crackling of fire. He turns his head back, reacting with shock to Ms. Twist's house.

From inside the house, and intense explosion propels glass from the windows. Flames engulf the entire house.

Even down the street, Jackson is knocked off his feet by the blast.

In the distance, sirens and approaching police cars and fire trucks are heard.

He stands and looks to the now suspicious Eric, then opts to run off away from the scene, escaping into the dark backyards of the neighborhood.


	14. Second Chance

Tense, Melissa's eyes look left, then right. "I don't know where he is," she said. "He's not talking to me?"

Agents Fujimoto and Marin stand before Melissa in her garage.

"Why?" Marin asked.

Melissa studies the men before averting her eyes. "Because I didn't believe him."

The agents study her. Marin accepts the explanation. Fujimoto's eyes take a walk around the artwork in the garage, pausing on a piece of twisted metal from the crash. Melissa tenses. However, Fujimoto just said, "If he should contact you, it would be in the best interest of your own safety to contact us." He hands Melissa his card. She takes it and nods. Fujimoto pauses , once again eyeing the metal, before moving out of the garage and on the way to their car.

Melissa looks at the business card.

* * *

At Mt. Abraham High School, the Flight 180 memorial is lit for dramatic effect at night, but only achieving an eeriness.

Nathan McHugh and Eric McGorrill move toward the monument. Eric is riding his bicycle, wearing a jersey with "_McGorrill_" written across the back of the shoulders. Nearing the shadows, the two boys stop, looking at the monument. Nathan pulls out a heavy pocket knife and starts attempting to cut into the stone.

Melissa Wu appears from the shadows. "What are you doing?"

Nathan said, "Taylor's name should be on this wall."

Melissa is touched by the action.

"So, why'd you want us to meet you here?" Nathan asked, "Now?"

"They're watching me to see if I go to Jackson," Melissa said.

"Are you?" Eric spoke up.

"They'll follow my car." She paused a beat. "That's why you're taking me."

"Why would I wanna see him?" Nathan said.

Melissa eyes the two of them, with the memorial standing before them. "Because he knows which one of us is next."

Nathan and Eric feel the chill of their inner fears.

* * *

The muscle car roars onto U.S. 17. A sign near the road indicates "_Middletown - 25 mi. New York City - 105 mi." _

Nathan checks the rearview mirror. Melissa looks out the front passenger window. She shakes her head, as if "_no one's following us_."

Eric leans forward from the backseat. "Um…okay…drive the speed limit, right?" He sits back but quickly darts forward. "And don't pass on the right."

"Billy! I'm getting a vision! You're the next one!" Nathan said.

Nervously, Eric says, "Hey, man, why'd you say that?!"

"Cause if you say another word, I'm gonna freakin' kill you!"

Eric sits back, gesturing "_Hear you. Got it_."

Melissa pays no attention to their exchange as she stares out into the darkness, her thoughts a million miles away.

* * *

A posted sign indicates "Accident Site. Any debris found should be reported to the NTSB (222-555-NTSB). Nathan pulls up to a stop.

Melissa opens the passenger door and pauses in the car a while. "He could be anywhere from here to a mile down the shore. You guys drive down there, start this way and we'll meet around the middle. It'll take half the time." Melissa closed the door. Nathan and Eric drive off. She looks to the beach

* * *

The waves of the Atlantic are small but rhythmic, an eternal metronome slapping against the lone beach.

Numb, Cody Jackson sits in the sand, searching for an answer somewhere in the darkness of the evening sea.

Behind him, approaching in the sand, are soft footsteps. He listens, noting them. Yet, rather than turning around, he looks up into the sky. The shoreline lights cast an orange haze on the stars, breaking through, infinitely above. "Are they up there?"

Melissa Wu approaches, barefoot in the sand. He didn't need to turn to know who was behind him.

Jackson continues. "Somehow…is 180 still in flight? Somewhere…are they still safe?"

Melissa hasn't met eyes with Jackson, but she sits nearby, looking into the sky. "When I was a kid, like, six or seven…I used to worry so much about my parents dying. Like lying awake…just worrying. I loved them so much. I didn't want them to get hurt. And what would happen to me? What would life be like?" She pauses a beat. "Every night…it seemed." She looks out at the stars.

He doesn't eye her either. "Most kids do, I guess."

"Most kids never have it happen," she added.

Jackson hangs his head.

"When I was ten…my dad went into a 7-11 for cigarettes. I guess he heard somebody say 'Don't turn around." So, on reflex, or thinking a friend was joking…he did. And the guy blew his head off." She has lived this so many times, she is long beyond crying. "And let me tell you, I had every reason to worry before…because life became crap. I don't blame her, I guess, because my mom couldn't deal with it all. She married this butthole, who my mom with my real dad would cross the street to avoid this guy. He really didn't want a kid. And so my mom didn't either anymore, I guess." She pauses a beat. "If that was the design for my father…and my family…then screw Death! Screw it!" The waves continue to shore. Melissa looks up at the sky. "And so anyway…I've thought of that 'somewhere,' Jackson. It exists, that place."

He looks at her.

She continues. "Where my dad is still safe. Where he had a full pack of cigarettes and kept driving. A place where me and my dad and my mom…are still together…and have no idea about this second life, here." She pauses. "A place where our friends are still in the sky…where everyone gets a second chance." She looks at him. "But that place might only exist in my heart. And maybe, now…yours. I haven't experienced too many second chances in my life. I haven't seen any. But because of all of this, I believe…because of you…I will get a second chance. Because of me, you will. With you in my life…that place, right now existing in our hearts, will spring out…and become a real part of this life."

Jackson looks within her as a soft ocean breeze blows through Melissa's hair.

She said, "And that is the only way we can beat Death…by making something special out of Life."


	15. Slice

Nathan drives. Eric rides shotgun. Jackson and Melissa are in the back. Everyone anxious, looking for cops.

"I can't go home," Jackson said. "After Ms. Twist's, they'll be after me."

"We're taking you to a cabin n the woods. It's only a couple miles from my house." To Nathan, she says, "Keep off the highways. They'll be looking for us."

Nathan, however, continually glances into the rearview mirror, checking Jackson. Finally, hotheaded and unable to hold any further, he says, "Alright, Cody, you freakin' warlock…did you know about Ms. Twist or what?"

"Why do you think I was hiding?" Jackson says.

Melissa says, "Eric told the F.B.I. he saw you runnin' away from her house."

"They blame me for everything. Her, Lex, the whole freakin' plane crash."

"You shoe prints were in the blood. Your fingerprints on the knives." Eric spoke up.

"I already told you-"

"I'm not talkin' about if you did it. Or if you knew she was dead." Nathan pauses a beat. "Did you know she was going to be next…before she was?"

Jackson looks at Melissa, her expression asking the same question. "Yeah," Jackson says quietly. Almost to himself, he says, "When she died…at that moment, I could tell she saw something…horrible."

The three others turn quiet, considering what it must be.

"Out of us…who's next to see it?" Nathan asks.

Jackson eyes them, hesitant to respond.

"Please tell me I'm gonna get to see the jets win the Super Bowl," Eric said.

"Me, right?" Nathan says. "That's why you're not saying."

Eric looks out the window, despondent. "Should've made out with Tammy in the pool, that time."

Nathan says to Eric, "Whatta you whining' about? He said I'm next."

"He didn't say nothing," Melissa said. "Just drive."

"You have a responsibility to tell me," Nathan says.

"You think it's gonna make it easier to know, Nathan? Huh?" Jackson said. "It makes it freakin' harder."

"You get off havin' control over me. Let me choose how to deal with it," Nathan said.

"It doesn't matter who's next," Jackson said. "We're all on the same list."

The three are silent.

"Aw, dang…really?" Nathan's expression becomes frightened, but he can't have this. He counters with an irrational bravado. "Then why bother? What's the freakin' point? Taylor and me will be back together on the other side, so why wait any longer?" Nathan bares down on the steering wheel and hit's the gas.

The muscle car roars past a stop sign. The interior bounces as the car clears a dip past the intersection. Jackson, Melissa, and Eric tense.

"Nathan, what are you doing?" Jackson said. "Slow down. Slow down, Nathan!"

"Screw you!" Nathan says.

"Knock it off," Melissa says.

"May as well go out under my own free will, right?" Nathan says.

"Not with us in the freakin' car," Eric yells.

The car guns it through another stop sign.

Every passenger hangs on as the car bounces from the next dip.

Melissa and Eric speak at once. "Stop it!" Melissa screams. "Hey, c'mon, man." Eric says.

"Nathan stop the freakin' car." Jackson said. He looks down to buckle in, but the seat belt is ripped.

"What's your freakin' worry? If it's not your time…? I could get nailed runnin' this red light and you all wouldn't get crap! Only me, right?" Nathan said.

"It doesn't work that way, Nathan," Jackson says.

Up ahead is a red light.

Jackson quickly turns his attention back to his seat belt to try and tie it together but it's already connected, as if it weren't just separated in half. Jackson looks confused, but turns his attention back to the road.

A car approaches with a green lighted right of way. Nathan's car just misses being t-boned in the intersection as the other car hit's the breaks, fishtailing.

"And I freakin' hated French class," Eric said.

Melissa and Jackson speak at the same time. "Nathan, stop it, you freakin' maniac!" Jackson says. "Get control of yourself," Melissa says.

"That's what I'm doin'!" Nathan yells back.

"I know what you're doing!" Melissa says. "It's alright to be scared. Nathan. You don't have to prove to us how brave you are. Not now."

"I'm not afraid! I decide when it's time! I control my life! I control my death!"

"Watch it! Watch it!" Eric yells.

Nathan barrels through the intersection as a car makes a left turn. He takes his hand off the wheel and raises them in the air, like a terrorized child on a roller coaster The turning car honks, roaring through the intersection as Nathan's car nearly clips the rear end of the car.

Nathan hooks his elbow on the window and his right arm around the front seat, driving, no hands.

Together, Melissa and Jackson speak at once. "Stop the car!" Melissa yells. "Let us out," Jackson says.

"I am…so close to puking, you don't wanna know," Eric says.

"We're afraid, too, Nathan, but we're not going to quit. Maybe you are. You act like you're not but you are!" Melissa said.

Nathan eyes Melissa in the rearview mirror.

Melissa continued. "So, stop what you're doing and stop this car! Right now."

Nathan begins to slow the car down.

In the back seat, Jackson and Melissa ease just as railroad crossing arms drop. They hear the clang, clang, clang of the railroad crossing alarm.

The front crossing arm drops before the car, trapping them on the track.

Nathan turns and flashes a "_that's why I stopped_" smile.

"Move it!" Melissa yelled.

Nathan turns off the engine, then sits back into his seat and folds his arms, indicating he has no intention of moving.

"Eric, get out." Jackson said.

Scared to death, Eric fumbles with the car door handle. From the front passenger seat, he looks up and to his left.

A locomotive headlight arcs across the trees…approaching.

Melissa and Jackson speak at once. "Can't you open the door?!" Melissa said. "Easy, Eric, just open it," Jackson said calmly.

Eric is still having trouble opening the door.

"Eric, open the freakin' door!" Jackson yelled, kicking the back of Eric's seat.

Melissa screams at Eric, whose eyes are wide, glued to the approaching train. Jackson leans forward, opens the door handle, and pushes Eric out.

The train appears around the blind bend.

Melissa is quickly behind Eric.

Nathan remains in the driver's seat.

Jackson, standing outside the passenger's door, says, "C'mon Nathan. Listen to me. You don't wanna do this."

Nathan just turns to him with a smirk.

Jackson slams the door shut.

The train warning whistle blows as Jackson, Melissa, and Eric hustle away from the car on the same side of the tracks. They quickly turn around, desperate to convince. "Nathan, get out!" Melissa calls. "Don't do it! Don't do it!" Jackson says. "It's coming! It's coming!" Eric yells.

Arms crossed, Nathan remains in the front seat. As the interior fills with light from the headlight of the oncoming train, Nathan turns and looks at them with a smart aleck smile, pleased that he's shown how brave he truly is. With a beam of cocky defiance, he says, "It ain't my time." He coolly turns back to the ignition, grabs the key, and turns it over, only to be met with the dull clack of a dead engine. His eyes flare with tension. He turns it again and again…nothing. He looks up.

The train is moments away.

Jackson, Melissa, and Eric assess the situation. "Get out! Get out of the car! Get out of the freakin' car!" Jackson yells. "Get out of the car!" Melissa screams. "Get out!"

As he turns away from them, Nathan sees something in the rearview mirror.

The passing shadow is darker than any surrounding darkness.

Nathan, as if the image has affected him, looks to his lap belt and clacks the button. He tugs at the restraint, but it will not move. He's strapped in. He tries to open the door. It won't budge. He pulls at the door handle…tugs at the seatbelt…panicked. Horrified, he whips toward the others. "I can't get out!" he yells.

Jackson, Eric, and Melissa look at each other, equally frightened.

"Man, he really is next," Eric says.

Jackson takes off toward Nathan's car. He hustles around the driver's side. Jackson desperately tries freeing the seatbelt.

The train whistle screams.

Melissa and Eric tense as the train nears.

Jackson grabs Nathan by the shoulders and strains with all his might to pull the much more muscular kid out of the driver's window.

The shadowy presence is reflected by the chrome buckle. However, as it passes, the seat belt begins to tear.

Jackson releases a deep groan.

The train tears through the front end of the muscular car.

Glass and metal erupt as the locomotive thunders.

Melissa and Eric must turn away from the shower of metal and broken glass.

Jackson holds Nathan by the shirt at the shoulders, dragging him away from the wreckage.

The two boys collapse on the road as the train continues to roar past.

As the train wheels thunder and clack, a broken two foot long shard of the car's debris bounces upon the tracks, kicked about by the train wheels.

Melissa and Eric run to the two survivors. Melissa falls into Jackson's arms, holding him tight.

Nathan lies on the road, hyperventilating and near tears.

"Scared now?" Melissa said.

Nathan looks at a piece of seatbelt. "It broke."

"No one's that strong," Eric said.

"Bullcrap! He saved your life…again." Melissa said to Nathan.

The train wheels continue to kick around the chunk of metal. The thundering train intensifies the situation.

"That's right! He's right! You are next! I'm getting the heck away from you!" Eric begins backing up from the others.

"Shut up, Eric," Nathan yelled.

"We don't need this," Melissa said.

Eric continues backing away, horrified. "I don't need it ever! Get away from him! He's next!"

The debris rattles beneath the wheels.

Nathan and Jackson are still on the ground.

"Screw you, Eric! I'm not dead!" Nathan yelled.

Still backing away, Eric said, "You will be! You're dead! You're dead!"

The debris bounces directly on the track. With great power and force, a train wheel runs over the debris, cutting it in half. It catches in the wheel and is spun around until shot out with the force of a missile.

Eric continued. "And you ain't takin' me with you!"

Fwoop! The metal tears through the air ripping Eric's head from his shoulders.

The roar of the train seems exaggerated as Jackson, Melissa, and Nathan are frozen in horrified shock.

The train is gone. Jackson, Nathan, and Melissa can do nothing but watch Eric's decapitated body macabrely wobbling on its two feet before falling to the ground.

"Holy crap!" Nathan says.

For a beat, there is silence, until, in the distance, sirens can be heard, approaching.

As Jackson stands, and Nathan manages to rise on his wobbly legs, none of them can remove their eyes from Eric's body.

To Nathan, Jackson says, "You should have been next. After Twist, you should have been next. That's the only pattern. You should be dead."

"Cody, you're the freakin' devil," Nathan said.

"But I intervened. Just like the plane. That's the design," Jackson told Melissa.

"Police are coming," she said.

"That's why it skipped Nathan and went to the next one in the path of the explosion: Eric." Jackson looks at Melissa as if experiencing an intense epiphany. "My intervention in the death of 180 survivors will cheat the design."

"Intervention?" Nathan repeated. "What? Are you a god now?"

"Of course not. Gods aren't afraid to die. Gods don't die. We do!" Jackson said.

"You're losin' it," Melissa said. "The police will be here. We have to go to the cabin. You can hide there. Get your head together."

Jackson considers, mind racing, then realizes, "After Eric…it's me…"

"And then me," Melissa says.

Jackson grabs Melissa and lifts her chin with his index finger. "Hey, I won't let it happen, okay?"

Nathan turns to them. It's as far as he will go to admit he believes…or will help. "Then, get outta here."

As she moves to Jackson, Melissa nods her acknowledgement and appreciation to Nathan. She takes Jackson by the hand and the pair begins running away, off into the woods.

In the distance, a train whistle blow, eerie, as if Death was punctuating the moment.


	16. Shocking

The windows are boarded. The front steps are worn and dilapidated. In the early evening moonlight, the dwelling appears eerie and ghostly. A pre-storm breeze sways branches and blows leaves. Lightning flashes in the distance.

A final piece of duct tape is applied to the corner of a small table, dulling any sharp edges. The shades are pulled. The room sits in dark shadows broken by occasional bright shafts of light.

Jackson carefully picks up a Coleman lantern and sets it atop an empty can placed in the center and above the water line of a large metal tub-a fire protection moat.

Jackson finds his way to a chair in the center of the room, away from everything except a nearby table holding a fire extinguisher and a first aid kit, both at less than arm's reach.

Unshaven, a week and a half's growth, and unkept, Jackson looks horrible, like an anxious zombie, especially in the dim glow of the lantern. Dark circles are around his eyes from lack of sleep. He's thin from lack of food and pale from lack of sunlight.

He places workman's gloves on his hands before picking up a can of Underwood chicken spread. With some degree of difficulty, he works the gloves underneath the tab and pulls. Careful not to cut himself, he reaches out and drops the lid into a small trashcan.

With the plastic spoon, he begins to eat, chewing methodically with concentration until, after steadying himself prepares to swallow. Then he carefully does.

He pauses. He's alright. He takes the spoon, scoops up some more, and the process begins again.

Outside, wind of an approaching storm blows. The resulting thunder rumbles. A breeze blows beneath the door, carrying some autumn leaves. Jackson's pant leg slightly flutters.

Jackson sits in his safe chair. Paranoid and obsessively cautious, his eyes move towards the door, anticipating the consequential events. Following the path of the breeze, Jackson turns around.

The brown shopping bag, used as a trash bag, tips over. Amongst the trash spread on the floor, a can rolls out and across the floor.

Jackson tenses. He doesn't look to where the can has been, but to where it is going.

The can rolls across the flow and gently hit's the end of a fishing pole propped in the corner. The pole teeters and falls over. The fish hook falls, hooking a closet door, which begins to swing open.

Jackson is quickly out of his safe chair, hustling towards the door. He slams it shut before it can open. The point sharp end of an old fish scaling knife pokes through the door, centimeters from his nose, along with a crash of other falling objects in the closet.

Jackson removes the hooks from the door and places the pole on the ground. He slides down the door and cautiously opens it, revealing a tackle box that has spilled thick, rusted old Treble and Aberdeen fishing hooks upon the floor. He examines them, then rises to his feet.

As if talking to Death, he says, "Rusted. Tetanus. Nice touch." Defiantly, he continues. "I overlooked it. You tried to capitalize. But I caught you, you freak. I can beat you. Not forever, but I got this cabin rigged to beat you now!" He slams the door shut.

He hears a sound, like a thump, coming from near the cabin steps. He freezes, like an animal sensing danger. Thunder rumbles. A draft creeps beneath the glass enclosure on the Coleman lantern, causing the flame to dance.

_______________________________________________________________________

Melissa peeks out her window, careful not to be seen.

The unmarked F.B.I. sedan maintains surveillance. Fujimoto and Marin sit inside.

Distant, but approaching, thunder rumbles as Melissa steps away from the window. The weight of the world on her shoulders, she paces, considering her options.

She looks to an old frame on her bookshelf. A man in his early thirties holds a six year old girl in his arms, waving to the camera. Both appear happy and alive. They are standing before a cabin surrounded with thick woods. Melissa turns the photograph over. On the back, marked in a young girl's handwriting, it reads, "_me and dad at the cabin. 1996._"

She considers her life-then, now, and what is to come.

_______________________________________________________________________

Marin sits in the passenger seat, looking through a pair of binoculars. Fujimoto is behind the wheel.

"She was up there a minute ago," Marin said.

A figure steps in front of the driver's side window from the rear. The two agents are startled as Melissa Wu leans into the window. She pauses, gaining their trustworthiness, then says, "I'm not turning him in. There's another life that needs him now."

The two agents remain respectful.

"I go with you," Melissa said.

"You can't," Marin said back to her.

She considers, then understands. "Don't hurt him."

Marin says, "Tell us where he is. Wait at home, and I promise…we'll bring him back in protective custody."

Melissa senses the agent's sincerity.

_______________________________________________________________________

Distant thunder rumbles.

Jackson kindles a fire in the fireplace, balling up old newspapers. He begins to crumble the local news, then pauses, hungry for information about the outside world.

A headline catches his attention. Tense, Jackson hears the rumbling thunder. As he unrolls the paper, his expression is rocked, anxious. He cocks his head to consider, recalling.

The headline reads, "_Parents To Establish Memorial Scholarships_." Beside the headline are two yearbook photos: Christa Marsh and Blake Dreyer.

Jackson's expression reflects a terrified revelation. "I…never moved. Christa asked me to move, but I didn't change seats. I would've moved up…next to Lex. How could I not remember that. I never moved. Melissa's seat was in front of mine." He pauses a beat. "She's next."

_______________________________________________________________________

Melissa paces in her living room. She moves to the curtains and checks out the window.

Although it is not raining, lightning cracks across the sky. It strikes the top of a pole, snapping two power lines, which whip in the wind.

In her house, Melissa turns around as the power goes out. The room turns dark. Outside, brilliant bluish-white arc lights crackle. Melissa moves to the window.

The power lines arc, violently striking the ground and each other. Each line whips unpredictably, like an uncontrolled garden hose with the water turned on full. And yet, there's a mean, angry and taunting personality to the two power lines, as if Death were within them.

Melissa assesses the situation and moves a pair of candles on the mantle, lighting them with a match.

From the backyard, a dog barks.

Melissa brings the candle through the small house. She moves quickly to the kitchen, holding the candle. Outside, blue arc light crackles. Melissa looks out the backyard.

An old circular clothesline turns like a pinwheel in the wind. In the center of the yard is an oblong, tarped above-ground pool. In the furthest corner of the yard, her dog is chained to a tree, barking and freaked out. An old tire swings rocks in the storm. From the manner in which the house is situated and the length of the snapped power lines, one of the is capable of reaching the backyard. The power line strikes the ground, closing in on the dog.

Melissa considers the danger of venturing out to get the dog.

Although no window is open, and the power outage has shut off any air conditioning, the candle flame whips, then extinguishes. The blue smoke swirls ominously into the room.

On the clothesline, sharp metal edges spin, glinting blue are light.

_______________________________________________________________________

Jackson charges out the front door, leaping over the steps. Several cars are approaching, headlights panning across the trees. Jackson stops dead in his tracks to look, then runs of into the woods just as the F.B.I. unmarked sedan and three sheriff 4x4s thunder up to the cabin, siren lights swirling.

Marin is driving, leading the other vehicles. Fujimoto points out the passenger window. "There," he says.

Through the window, Marin sees Jackson disappear into the dark forest at full sprint.

The cars brake to a stop, skidding in the dirt. Sheriffs leap out of their vehicles. High powered flashlights shoot beams in Jackson's direction. The officers take off after the suspect.

_______________________________________________________________________

The backdoor opens. Melissa charges out into the backyard.

The dog is helpless. Its chain is wrapped around the tree.

Thunder rumbles.

Melissa begins to run.

The circular clothesline in whipped by a power line. Sparks fly as the base pole snaps in two. The metal pole plunge into the ground just before and behind Melissa, inches from impaling her. She stumbles, but quickly steps aside and continues toward the tree. The circular clothesline frame, rolled by the winds, soars across the yard toward the above-ground pool, puncturing it. Water streams from the rupture.

Melissa reaches the tree and begins unfastening the dog's collar from the chain.

The power lines, whipping, strike one another, causing an angry flash of electricity. The rivets holding the pools frame begin to break and pop. Water floods into the yard.

_______________________________________________________________________

Jackson blindly runs through the forest, the sheriffs' flashlight beams crossing behind him, in pursuit. Looking back to check the position of the agents, Jackson runs over the lip of a downward slope. He rolls and tumbles uncontrollably down the hillside. As he nears the base, he stops with a crunching thud, his face inches from being impaled by a sharp, thick protruding branch. No time to catch his breath, he's up and running.

_______________________________________________________________________

Water floods, pooling the backyard, cascading over Melissa's feet. She looks down. In the reflection of the puddle, the dark shadow passes. Melissa whips up, checking the position of the power line, which coils like a cobra, ready to strike.

Melissa drops the chain and gently pushes the dog on his backside. "Run!"

The dog starts to tear off toward the house. Melissa runs toward the hanging tire and leaps.

The power line whips, the frayed wires hitting the puddle of water.

Melissa desperately grabs the tire, hanging on, literally for her life. The dog yelps, safely on the sideline. Melissa turns back to see it is okay.

_______________________________________________________________________

Distant flashlights reflect in a small stream, barely two inches deep. Jackson splashes in the water.

Thunder rumbles.

Jackson races along the path of the stream. The sheriffs continue their pursuit through the dark trees.

Lightning cracks a tree branch. Sparks fly. The thick branch tumbles down, falling from above. It lands on top of Jackson. He's knocked to the ground and pinned, face down, in the creek. His face is just below the water line, but he can't move. He struggles, battles to move and avoid drowning in two inches of water.

As he struggles, Marin and a pair of sheriffs appear ten yards beyond him. They pause, confused, panning their flashlights across the forest. The lights actually expose the area where Jackson lies. From their position, however, he is covered by the branch and out of sight.

Jackson struggles to raise his head above the water, chest bursting.

Marin and the sheriffs, believing Jackson is not in the area, move ahead into the woods.

_______________________________________________________________________

Melissa pulls herself up to a tree branch. Lightning and thunder continue amongst the arcing, crackling power lines.

She searches for an escape. The tree branch extends toward the house. Straining in the storm, Melissa begins moving up the branch.

_______________________________________________________________________

Jackson, taking a tenth of a second to gather all of his strength, all his courage, arches his back, pushing with his hands, anything to lift his face out of the stream.

With a deep gasp, he does so, drinking up the air. It appears to infuse him with another blast of adrenaline as he manages to push with his arms and free himself from the pinning tree branch.

He pauses, only for a couple gulps of air, and is off.

_______________________________________________________________________

Melissa leaps from the end of the branch to her window, grabbing the sill awkwardly, dangling outside the house. With a breath, she pulls herself inside, just as the power line bites, arcing, at her feet.

_______________________________________________________________________

Marin looks around, frustrated. Into the radio, he says, "Lost him."

In another part of the forest, Fujimoto desperately scans the forest. "From the direction, there's only one place he could be heading."

_______________________________________________________________________

The power lines strike the rooftop.

Melissa Wu stands in her bedroom, just as it fills with blinding blue light. Her television screen blows out. Sparks jet across the room. Blasts of flame erupt from the electrical outlets. She quickly turns, racing towards the hallway.

Sparks explode from the lamps and electrical outlets as she runs. She falls and covers her head to protect it. Quickly deciding that staying here isn't safe, she jumps to her feet, cutting and leaping, three stairs at a time, down the staircase.

_______________________________________________________________________

Jackson tears across the fenceless backyards toward Melissa's house. He sees blue arc light glowing in the distance, coming from her front yard.

_______________________________________________________________________

An old corolla is parked amongst Melissa's artwork in the garage. A door, adjacent to the kitchen, flies open. Melissa hustles through, running to the car and entering via the passenger door, for the sake of expediency.

The power lines whack angrily against the garage door.

Melissa scoots into the driver's seat. She clicks the automatic garage door opener. Its motor, connected to a metal arm, attached to the door, remains motionless. There is no power.

Realizing the motor is dead, Melissa takes a beat, starts the engine, and shifts into reverse.

_______________________________________________________________________

Jackson reaches Melissa's backyard. He quickly tries to deduce the deadly situation, running back into the trees.

_______________________________________________________________________

Melissa guns the small car into reverse. As the rear of the car makes impact with the door, the garage opener trembles. The long metal arm collapses and falls.

Bam! In reverse, the corolla smashes through the garage door.

The metal arm of the garage door opener rips through the windshield, locking upon the windshield wiper grille. The other end remains attached to the garage roof interior, essentially acting as an anchor.

The car shudders, wheels spinning uselessly as the arm holds onto the car.

The screws holding the arm to the ceiling begin to pull away. A metal can on a shelf is rocked as, the car rattles the garage, trying to break free. The can is marked "_turpentine: extremely flammable_." The can tumbles over the shelf. The can smacks on the floor, edgewise, revealing the can is sealed tight with a cap.

The thick cable arcs, snapping toward the car.

Foot to the floor, Melissa screams for the car to move.

The door opener motor pulls away from the ceiling. The corolla lurches backwards, freed from the grasp of the house.

A chunk of the ceiling collapses upon Melissa's artworks, including the canvas incorporating a jagged piece of debris from Flight 180. The metal slams to the floor on top of the can of turpentine, which causes the flammable liquid to stream out, toward the driveway.

As the corolla lurches away from the house down the sloped driveway, the power line thuds upon Melissa's car, causing an ear-splitting crackle. Sparks fly. The electrical system of the small car erupts, and the engine dies. The car stops.

Jackson appears from the rear of the house, reacting to the situation. "Don't move," he yells to Melissa.

The power line sadistically rests atop the automobile. The exposed end of the cable flutters and whips like a cat's tail, sparkling, crackling, as it hit's the ground.

Melissa looks up desperately to Jackson, who extends his hands.

Cars approach thunderously.

"You're grounded by the tires. Don't touch anything. Don't move," Jackson said.

The unmarked F.B.I. vehicle and two sheriff patrol cars pull up on the street. Fujimoto and Marin hustle out of the car. "Cody, get away from there!" Marin yells. "Any part of that line touches you, you're dead," Fujimoto calls.

The power line snaps in Jackson's direction. He lurches back.

The stream of turpentine is ignited by a single spark from the power line. It flows toward the car.

Jackson backs away, eyes locked on Melissa's, assuring she's remaining in the car. Melissa keeps her eyes locked on Jackson, watching him.

Suddenly, a burst of flame flashes. Jackson reacts, shocked. The underbelly of the corolla has ignited from the stream of combustible fluid. He realizes. "The car's gonna explode!"

Fujimoto and Marin step forward.

The power line on the hood of the car whips, arcs, warning everyone away.

Melissa can see the flames. Her instinct is to grab the handle to get out.

Jackson steps closer. "No!" he says, stopping Melissa from touching the door handle.

"Get back! You'll both die!" Marin calls.

Hearing this, Jackson's mind is made up. He looks to Melissa. "I can only hold on for so long. You know what to do."

"Don't!" Melissa cries.

"When I do this…it'll have skipped you…and it will all be over," Jackson said.

"No!" Melissa yells, voice shaking. "Don't!"

"Melissa, I am not going to let it beat us both. You know what to do." In a calmer, quieter voice, Jackson says, "I'll always be with you." With that, he walks to the front of the car, preparing himself, staring Death in the eyes.

"No!" Melissa shrieks.

Jackson reaches out and grabs the power line. Getting her chance, Melissa opens the door and jumps out.

A small explosion erupts behind her, forcing both her and Jackson to the ground.

The agents break into a run.

The power line becomes still, sparks no longer shooting out.

Out of breath, the agents finally reach Melissa and fall to the ground as she gets up and runs to Jackson.

"Jackson? Jackson?!" She looks at his hands, burnt from holding the power line. "You can't do this to me. C'mon, Baby. C'mon."

The agents approach the garage. Fujimoto holds Melissa back while Marin examines Jackson. "Cody? Cody? Cody?" Marin leans his head down, checking to see if the boy is breathing. "Crap! He's not breathing. Hold on, Cody. C'mon. Stay with me." Marin begins pushing down on Jackson's chest, trying to get him to breathe.


	17. Going Out With A Bang

A flight attendant opens the door of the plane. People begin walking out as she greets them all at the door.

Everyone grabs their bags from the overhead compartments.

"Well, we made it," Nathan said.

"Paris," said Melissa. "I can't believe we made it."

"I just can't believe we got on a plane again," Jackson said, coming up behind Melissa, putting his hands on her shoulders.

_______________________________________________________________________

"Viola," the waiter says after pouring Melissa, Nathan, and Jackson some drinks, then walks over to another table.

"Wow. It's weird being here, huh? We've finally completed a puzzle." After a pause, Jackson said, "There's still something missing."

After a small silence, Nathan raises his glass. "To Taylor."

"Yeah," Jackson says, doing the same. "To Lex."

"To all of our friends that can't be here," Melissa said.

The three clink their glasses together.

Jackson said, "Cheers."

"Cheers," Melissa repeated.

Each took a sip of their drink.

Nathan quietly snorts after swallowing.

"What?" Jackson said.

"If you would have told me six months ago that the three of us would be sittin' here, having a drink…"

Jackson chuckles. "Yeah."

"I don't know…I mean, sometimes it just feels like the two of you are the only ones that can understand," Nathan said.

In the background, a man plays his acoustic guitar, beginning to sing _Rocky Mountain High_ in French.

"You were right, Cody," Nathan continued. "It did skip us. It was a design. And we beat it. We won."

"I think the only thing we've won, Nathan, is a chance at a full life," Melissa spoke up. "A chance that I would never waste." She took Jackson's hand.

"Yeah." Jackson sighs. "There's just something…something I can't figure out."

"What?" asked Nathan.

"About the design…" Jackson started.

"Jackson, just let it go, alright?" Melissa said.

"Just hear me out, okay?" Jackson said, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket. He unfolded it, revealing the plane schematic he drew six months ago.

Melissa clears her throat.

"Oh my gosh," Nathan said, not wanting to talk about this subject.

"Just listen," Jackson said. "Now, the path of the explosion determined the order of our deaths, right?" He was pointing to each seat marked on the paper, tracing with his finger. "When I intervened and saved Nathan, it skipped him and went to the next person in the path. It went to Eric." He pointed to Eric's seat, then to Melissa's. "And then, it was Melissa. But I intervened and saved her, so it went to me. But, in my case, no one intervened, right? I was thrown from that power line by the explosion. So-"

"So, why did it skip you, right?" Nathan interrupted, already knowing that's what Jackson was going to say.

"How do we know that this wasn't exactly what was meant to happen? That, out of everyone one Flight 180, you, me, and Nathan were meant to live?" Melissa said. Nathan pointed to her, agreeing, as if "See?" Melissa continued. "Maybe that was the design all along."

Nathan spoke up. "Or you could still be next."

"Shut up, Nathan." Melissa glared at him.

"What? I didn't make up the rules. I mean, somebody's gotta intervene before Death can skip death. Cody proved that three times: the plane, with me, with you. For all I know, it could circle back and get us all again. But I am the safest butt hole in the world because you're still next." Nathan pointed to Jackson's seat on the paper.

Jackson considered. He now noticed the song playing behind him in the outside dining area. He turned back, watching the singer, becoming paranoid.

"Can we just stop talking about this? Let's figure out…" Jackson wasn't listening to Melissa anymore.

He looked at a yellow and brown meat truck. A man viciously stabbed a huge piece of meat with a hook. He heard a noise and looked up. A pipe was rolling down the rails on a building under reconstruction across the street. It hit some glass, which shattered as it fell to the ground. A huge flame roared behind him. He quickly looked back to see a man lighting a street lamp with a match. A sudden breeze blew by, extinguishing the flame.

Jackson's elbow knocks his glass over. He looks at the schematic, breathing heavily. On the paper, red wine is spilled on his name. He stands up, startled, almost knocking over his chair. "I'm gonna meet you guys back at the hotel, okay?"

"Just wait. I'll go with you," Melissa said concerned, reaching for her jacket and purse.

"No, no! Just stay here, okay, Melissa? Just stay here, alright?" Jackson held up his hand to stop Melissa.

"See? It's true," Nathan said, turning back in his chair, watching Jackson walk off. "Told you that you were next, man."

"Stop it, Nathan," Melissa warned, wondering what was wrong with Jackson. "Jackson, wait."

"No, Melissa. Stay there," Jackson said, turning to them. "Stay away."

Melissa looked at one of the restaurant's windows. She saw the reflection of a bus, but when she turned around, there wasn't one in sight. She pauses a beat, taking this under consideration, wondering if it was a sign. "Jackson!" she screamed.

Jackson turned around before stepping onto the street. A bus flew by him, inches away. It honked its horn, almost hitting a car while trying to dodge Jackson. It swerves out of the car's way, hitting a pole, barely missing a man standing by his produce stand. The pole glides through the air, twisting, then hit's the hinges holding up a lighted sign that reads, "Le Café Miro 81." The sign wobbles, bulbs shattering, causing sparks. It breaks in half, now reading, "180." It is connected to the roof of a building by two ropes. The sign swings directly at Jackson

"Jackson!" Melissa shrieked.

Jackson stood, frozen, as the sign inched closer. Nathan punched Jackson to the ground just in time, then stood up, both boys breathing hard.

"I told you that you were next," Nathan said, pointing at Jackson.

"Then it just skipped me," Jackson looked up to Nathan.

"So who's next?" Nathan asked.

Jackson looked behind Nathan, eyes flaring. The sign was still swinging on the ropes, coming back toward them, moments away.


	18. Alternate Ending: Second Chance

Tense, Melissa's eyes look left, then right. "I don't know where he is," she said. "He's not talking to me?"

Agents Fujimoto and Marin stand before Melissa in her garage.

"Why?" Marin asked.

Melissa studies the men before averting her eyes. "Because I didn't believe him."

The agents study her.

Marin accepts the explanation.

Fujimoto's eyes take a walk around the artwork in the garage, pausing on a piece of twisted metal from the crash.

Melissa tenses.

However, Fujimoto just said, "If he should contact you, it would be in the best interest of your own safety to contact us." He hands Melissa his card.

She takes it and nods.

Fujimoto pauses, once again eyeing the metal, before moving out of the garage and on the way to their car.

Melissa looks at the business card.

_______________________________________________________________________

At Mt. Abraham High School, the Flight 180 memorial is lit for dramatic effect at night, but only achieving an eeriness.

Nathan McHugh and Eric McGorrill move toward the monument. Eric is riding his bicycle, wearing a jersey with "_McGorrill_" written across the back of the shoulders. Nearing the shadows, the two boys stop, looking at the monument. Nathan pulls out a heavy pocket knife and starts attempting to cut into the stone.

Melissa Wu appears from the shadows. "What are you doing?"

Nathan said, "Taylor's name should be on this wall."

Melissa is touched by the action.

"So, why'd you want us to meet you here?" Nathan asked, "Now?"

"They're watching me to see if I go to Jackson," Melissa said.

"Are you?" Eric spoke up.

"They'll follow my car." She paused a beat. "That's why you're taking me."

"Why would I wanna see him?" Nathan said.

Melissa eyes the two of them, with the memorial standing before them. "Because he knows which one of us is next."

Nathan and Eric feel the chill of their inner fears.

_______________________________________________________________________

The muscle car roars onto U.S. 17. A sign near the road indicates "_Middletown - 25 mi. New York City - 105 mi."_

Nathan checks the rearview mirror. Melissa looks out the front passenger window. She shakes her head, as if "_no one's following us_."

Eric leans forward from the backseat. "Um…okay…drive the speed limit, right?" He sits back but quickly darts forward. "And don't pass on the right."

"Billy! I'm getting a vision! You're the next one!" Nathan said.

Nervously, Eric says, "Hey, man, why'd you say that?!"

"Cause if you say another word, I'm gonna freakin' kill you!"

Eric sits back, gesturing "_Hear you. Got it_."

Melissa pays no attention to their exchange as she stares out into the darkness, her thoughts a million miles away.

_______________________________________________________________________

A posted sign indicates "_Accident Site. Any debris found should be reported to the NTSB (222-555-NTSB)_.

Nathan pulls up to a stop.

Melissa opens the passenger door and pauses in the car a while. "He could be anywhere from here to a mile down the shore. You guys drive down there, start this way and we'll meet around the middle. It'll take half the time." Melissa closed the door. Nathan and Eric drive off.

She looks to the beach.

_______________________________________________________________________

The waves of the Atlantic are small but rhythmic, an eternal metronome slapping against the lone beach.

Numb, Cody Jackson sits in the sand, searching for an answer somewhere in the darkness of the evening sea.

Behind him, approaching in the sand, are soft footsteps. He listens, noting them. Yet, rather than turning around, he looks up into the sky. The shoreline lights cast an orange haze on the stars, breaking through, infinitely above. "Are they up there?"

Melissa Wu approaches, barefoot in the sand. He didn't need to turn to know who was behind him.

Jackson continues. "Somehow…is 180 still in flight? Somewhere…are they still safe?"

Melissa hasn't met eyes with Jackson, but she sits nearby, looking into the sky. "When I was a kid, like, six or seven…I used to worry so much about my parents dying. Like lying awake…just worrying. I loved them so much. I didn't want them to get hurt. And what would happen to me? What would life be like?" She pauses a beat. "Every night…it seemed." She looks out at the stars.

He doesn't eye her either. "Most kids do, I guess."

"Most kids never have it happen," she added.

Jackson hangs his head.

"When I was ten…my dad went into a 7-11 for cigarettes. I guess he heard somebody say 'Don't turn around." So, on reflex, or thinking a friend was joking…he did. And the guy blew his head off." She has lived this so many times, she is long beyond crying. "And let me tell you, I had every reason to worry before…because life became crap. I don't blame her, I guess, because my mom couldn't deal with it all. She married this butthole, who my mom with my real dad would cross the street to avoid this guy. He really didn't want a kid. And so my mom didn't either anymore, I guess." She pauses a beat. "If that was the design for my father…and my family…then screw Death! Screw it!" The waves continue to shore. Melissa looks up at the sky. "And so anyway…I've thought of that 'somewhere,' Jackson. It exists, that place."

He looks at her.

She continues. "Where my dad is still safe. Where he had a full pack of cigarettes and kept driving. A place where me and my dad and my mom…are still together…and have no idea about this second life, here." She pauses. "A place where our friends are still in the sky…where everyone gets a second chance." She looks at him. "But that place might only exist in my heart. And maybe, now…yours. I haven't experienced too many second chances in my life. I haven't seen any. But because of all of this, I believe…because of you…I will get a second chance. Because of me, you will. With you in my life…that place, right now existing in our hearts, will spring out…and become a real part of this life."

Jackson looks within her as a soft ocean breeze blows through Melissa's hair.

"And that is the only way we can beat Death…by making something special out of Life," Melissa says.

Jackson's eyes well with tears. Only as she looks him does Melissa become emotional.

They move closer and kiss, the desire for each other, to defy the events around them: darkness, the isolation. They dive into a deep feverish kiss, embracing as if the tighter, the safer. She pulls him back down to the beach and lifts his shirt over his head.

"This won't be safe," Jackson said.

Melissa looks down the beach, checking for any sign of Eric or Nathan. "Those guys are probably fifteen minutes away."

"No," Jackson said. "I mean, I don't have anything on me. This won't be safe."

Sadly, Melissa said, "Nothing is…anymore."

Jackson looks to Melissa, then kisses her with passion that reflects the defiance of Death. He pulls open her shirt and falls into her arms. The young man and woman make love in the sand, consciously and defiantly oblivious to anything around them, including the stars, possibly Flight 180, up above.


	19. Alternate Ending: Slice

Nathan drives. Eric rides shotgun. Jackson and Melissa are in the back. Everyone anxious, looking for cops.

"I can't go home," Jackson said. "After Ms. Twist's, they'll be after me."

"We're taking you to a cabin n the woods. It's only a couple miles from my house." To Nathan, she says, "Keep off the highways. They'll be looking for us."

Nathan, however, continually glances into the rearview mirror, checking Jackson. Finally, hotheaded and unable to hold any further, he says, "Alright, Cody, you freakin' warlock…did you know about Ms. Twist or what?"

"Why do you think I was hiding?" Jackson says.

Melissa says, "Eric told the F.B.I. he saw you runnin' away from her house."

"They blame me for everything. Her, Lex, the whole freakin' plane crash."

"You shoe prints were in the blood. Your fingerprints on the knives." Eric spoke up.

"I already told you-"

"I'm not talkin' about if you did it. Or if you knew she was dead." Nathan pauses a beat. "Did you know she was going to be next…before she was?"

Jackson looks at Melissa, her expression asking the same question. "Yeah," Jackson says quietly. Almost to himself, he says, "When she died…at that moment, I could tell she saw something…horrible."

The three others turn quiet, considering what it must be.

"Out of us…who's next to see it?" Nathan asks.

Jackson eyes them, hesitant to respond.

"Please tell me I'm gonna get to see the jets win the Super Bowl," Eric said.

"Me, right?" Nathan says. "That's why you're not saying."

Eric looks out the window, despondent. "Shoulda made out with Tammy in the pool, that time."

Nathan says to Eric, "Whatta you whining' about? He said I'm next."

"He didn't say nothing," Melissa said. "Just drive."

"You have a responsibility to tell me," Nathan says.

"You think it's gonna make it easier to know, Nathan? Huh?" Jackson said. "It makes it freakin' harder."

"You get off havin' control over me. Let me choose how to deal with it," Nathan said.

"It doesn't matter who's next," Jackson said. "We're all on the same list."

The three are silent.

"Aw, dang…really?" Nathan's expression becomes frightened, but he can't have this. He counters with an irrational bravado. "Then why bother? What's the freakin' point? Taylor and me will be back together on the other side, so why wait any longer?" Nathan bares down on the steering wheel and hit's the gas.

The muscle car roars past a stop sign. The interior bounces as the car clears a dip past the intersection. Jackson, Melissa, and Eric tense.

"Nathan, what are you doing?" Jackson said. "Slow down. Slow down, Nathan!"

"Screw you!" Nathan says.

"Knock it off," Melissa says.

"May as well go out under my own free will, right?" Nathan says.

"Not with us in the freakin' car," Eric yells.

The car guns it through another stop sign. Every passenger hangs on as the car bounces from the next dip.

Melissa and Eric speak at once. "Stop it!" Melissa screams. "Hey, c'mon, man." Eric says.

"Nathan stop the freakin' car." Jackson said. He looks down to buckle in, but the seat belt is ripped.

"What's your freakin' worry? If it's not your time…? I could get nailed runnin' this red light and you all wouldn't get crap! Only me, right?" Nathan said.

"It doesn't work that way, Nathan," Jackson says. Up ahead is a red light. Jackson quickly turns his attention back to his seat belt to try and tie it together but it's already connected, as if it weren't just separated in half. Jackson looks confused, but turns his attention back to the road.

A car approaches with a green lighted right of way. Nathan's car just misses being t-boned in the intersection as the other car hit's the breaks, fishtailing.

"And I freakin' hated French class," Eric said.

Melissa and Jackson speak at the same time. "Nathan, stop it, you freakin' maniac!" Jackson says. "Get control of youself," Melissa says.

"That's what I'm doin'!" Nathan yells back.

"I know what you're doing!" Melissa says. "It's alright to be scared. Nathan. You don't have to prove to us how brave you are. Not now."

"I'm not afraid! I decide when it's time! I control my life! I control my death!"

"Watch it! Watch it!" Eric yells.

Nathan barrels through the intersection as a car makes a left turn. He takes his hand off the wheel and raises them in the air, like a terrorized child on a roller coaster. The turning car honks, roaring through the intersection as Nathan's car nearly clips the rear end of the car. Nathan hooks his elbow on the window and his right arm around the front seat, driving, no hands.

Together, Melissa and Jackson speak at once. "Stop the car!" Melissa yells. "Let us out," Jackson says.

"I am…so close to puking, you don't wanna know," Eric says.

"We're afraid, too, Nathan, but we're not going to quit. Maybe you are. You act like you're not but you are!" Melissa said.

Nathan eyes Melissa in the rearview mirror.

Melissa continued. "So, stop what you're doing and stop this car! Right now."

Nathan begins to slow the car down. In the back seat, Jackson and Melissa ease just as railroad crossing arms drop. They hear the clang, clang, clang of the railroad crossing alarm. The front crossing arm drops before the car, trapping them on the track. Nathan turns and flashes a "_that's why I stopped_" smile.

"Move it!" Melissa yelled.

Nathan turns off the engine, then sits back into his seat and folds his arms, indicating he has no intention of moving.

"Eric, get out." Jackson said.

Scared to death, Eric fumbles with the car door handle. From the front passenger seat, he looks up and to his left. A locomotive headlight arcs across the trees…approaching.

Melissa and Jackson speak at once. "Can't you open the door?!" Melissa said. "Easy, Eric, just open it," Jackson said calmly.

Eric is still having trouble opening the door. "Eric, open the freakin' door!" Jackson yelled, kicking the back of Eric's seat. Melissa screams at Eric, whose eyes are wide, glued to the approaching train. Jackson leans forward, opens the door handle, and pushes Eric out.

The train appears around the blind bend.

Melissa is quickly behind Eric. Nathan remains in the driver's seat. Jackson, standing outside the passenger's door, says, "C'mon Nathan. Listen to me. You don't wanna do this." Eric just turns to him with a smirk. Jackson slams the door shut.

The train warning whistle blows as Jackson, Melissa, and Eric hustle away from the car on the same side of the tracks. They quickly turn around, desperate to convince. "Nathan, get out!" Melissa calls. "Don't do it! Don't do it!" Jackson says. "It's coming! It's coming!" Eric yells.

Arms crossed, Nathan remains in the front seat. As the interior fills with light from the headlight of the oncoming train, Nathan turns and looks at them with a smart aleck smile, pleased that he's shown how brave he truly is. With a beam of cocky defiance, he says, "It ain't my time." He cooly turns back to the ignition, grabs the key, and turns it over, only to be met with the dull clack of a dead engine. His eyes flare with tension. He turns it again and again…nothing. He looks up. The train is moments away.

Jackson, Melissa, and Eric assess the situation. "Get out! Get out of the car! Get out of the freakin' car!" Jackson yells. "Get out of the car!" Melissa screams. "Get out!"

As he turns away from them, Nathan sees something in the rearview mirror. The passing shadow is darker than any surrounding darkness.

Nathan, as if the image has affected him, looks to his lap belt and clacks the button. He tugs at the restraint, but it will not move. He's strapped in. He tries to open the door. It won't budge. He pulls at the door handle…tugs at the seatbelt…panicked. Horrified, he whips toward the others. "I can't get out!" he yells.

Jackson, Eric, and Melissa look at each other, equally frightened.

"Man, he really is next," Eric says.

Jackson takes off toward Nathan's car. He hustles around the driver's side. Jackson desperately tries freeing the seatbelt.

The train whistle screams.

Melissa and Eric tense as the train nears.

Jackson grabs Nathan by the shoulders and strains with all his might to pull the much more muscular kid out of the driver's window.

The shadowy presence is reflected by the chrome buckle. However, as it passes, the seat belt begins to tear.

Jackson releases a deep groan.

The train tears through the front end of the muscular car. Glass and metal erupt as the locomotive thunders.

Melissa and Eric must turn away from the shower of metal and broken glass.

Jackson holds Nathan by the shirt at the shoulders, dragging him away from the wreckage. The two boys collapse on the road as the train continues to roar past.

As the train wheels thunder and clack, a broken two foot long shard of the car's debris bounces upon the tracks, kicked about by the train wheels.

Melissa and Eric run to the two survivors. Melissa falls into Jackson's arms, holding him tight. Nathan lies on the road, hyperventilating and near tears.

"Scared now?" Melissa said.

Nathan looks at a piece of seatbelt. "It broke."

"No one's that strong," Eric said.

"Bullcrap! He saved your life…again." Melissa said to Nathan.

The train wheels continue to kick around the chunk of metal. The thundering train intensifies the situation.

"That's right! He's right! You're next! I'm getting the heck away from you!" Eric begins backing up from the others.

"Shut up, Eric," Nathan yelled.

"We don't need this," Melissa said.

Eric continues backing away, horrified. "I don't need it ever! Get away from him! He's next!

The debris rattles beneath the wheels.

Nathan and Jackson are still on the ground.

"Screw you, Eric! I'm not dead!" Nathan yelled.

Still backing away, Eric said, "You will be! You're dead! You're dead!"

The debris bounces directly on the track. With great power and force, a train wheel runs over the debris, cutting it in half. It catches in the wheel and is spun around until shot out with the force of a missile.

Eric continued. "And you ain't takin' me with you!"

Fwoop! The metal tears through the air ripping Eric's head from his shoulders.

The roar of the train seems exaggerated as Jackson, Melissa, and Nathan are frozen in horrified shock.

The train is gone. Jackson, Nathan, and Melissa can do nothing but watch Eric's decapitated body macabrely wobbling on its two feet before falling to the ground.

"Holy crap!" Nathan says.

For a beat, there is silence, until, in the distance, sirens can be heard, approaching.

As Jackson stands, and Nathan manages to rise on his wobbly legs, none of them can remove their eyes from Eric's body.

To Nathan, Jackson says, "You should have been next. After Twist, you should have been next. That's the only pattern. You should be dead."

"Cody, you're the freakin' devil," Nathan said.

"But I intervened. Just like the plane. That's the design," Jackson told Melissa.

"Police are coming," she said.

"That's why it skipped Nathan and went to the next one in the path of the explosion: Eric." Jackson looks at Melissa as if experiencing an intense epiphany. "My intervention in the death of 180 survivors will cheat the design."

"Intervention?" Nathan repeated. "What? Are you a god now?"

"Of course not. Gods aren't afraid to die. Gods don't die. We do!" Jackson said.

"You're losin' it," Melissa said. "The police will be here. We have to go to the cabin. You can hide there. Get your head together."

Jackson considers, mind racing, then realizes, "After Eric…it's me…"

"And then me," Melissa says.

Jackson grabs Melissa and lifts her chin with his index finger. "Hey, I won't let it happen, okay?"

Nathan turns to them. It's as far as he will go to admit he believes…or will help. "Then, get outta here."

As she moves to Jackson, Melissa nods her acknowledgement and appreciation to Nathan. She takes Jackson by the hand and the pair begins running away, off into the woods.

In the distance, a train whistle blow, eerie, as if Death was punctuating the moment.


	20. Alternate Ending: Shocking

The windows are boarded. The front steps are worn and dilapidated. In the early evening moonlight, the dwelling appears eerie and ghostly. A pre-storm breeze sways branches and blows leaves. Lightning flashes in the distance.

A final piece of duct tape is applied to the corner of a small table, dulling any sharp edges. The shades are pulled. The room sits in dark shadows broken by occasional bright shafts of light.

Jackson carefully picks up a Coleman lantern and sets it atop an empty can placed in the center and above the water line of a large metal tub-a fire protection moat.

Jackson finds his way to a chair in the center of the room, away from everything except a nearby table holding a fire extinguisher and a first aid kit, both at less than arm's reach.

Unshaven, a week and a half's growth, and unkept, Jackson looks horrible, like an anxious zombie, especially in the dim glow of the lantern. Dark circles are around his eyes from lack of sleep. He's thin from lack of food and pale from lack of sunlight.

He places workman's gloves on his hands before picking up a can of Underwood chicken spread. With some degree of difficulty, he works the gloves underneath the tab and pulls. Careful not to cut himself, he reaches out and drops the lid into a small trashcan.

With the plastic spoon, he begins to eat, chewing methodically with concentration until, after steadying himself prepares to swallow. Then he carefully does.

He pauses. He's alright. He takes the spoon, scoops up some more, and the process begins again.

* * *

Melissa's eyes look downward at the pink circle, anxious and full of thought. The results of the home pregnancy test are positive, two pink dots, confirming. Melissa sighs, frightened, as she tosses the test upon a half dozen other discarded tests. You can never be too sure.

* * *

Outside, wind of an approaching storm blows. The resulting thunder rumbles. A breeze blows beneath the door, carrying some autumn leaves. Jackson's pant leg slightly flutters.

Jackson sits in his safe chair. Paranoid and obsessively cautious, his eyes move towards the door, anticipating the consequential events. Following the path of the breeze, Jackson turns around.

The brown shopping bag, used as a trash bag, tips over. Amongst the trash spread on the floor, a can rolls out and across the floor.

Jackson tenses. He doesn't look to where the can has been, but to where it is going.

The can rolls across the flow and gently hit's the end of a fishing pole propped in the corner. The pole teeters and falls over. The fish hook falls, hooking a closet door, which begins to swing open.

Jackson is quickly out of his safe chair, hustling towards the door. He slams it shut before it can open. The point sharp end of an old fish scaling knife pokes through the door, centimeters from his nose, along with a crash of other falling objects in the closet.

Jackson removes the hooks from the door and places the pole on the ground. He slides down the door and cautiously opens it, revealing a tackle box that has spilled thick, rusted old Treble and Aberdeen fishing hooks upon the floor. He examines them, then rises to his feet.

As if talking to Death, he says, "Rusted. Tetanus. Nice touch." Defiantly, he continues. "I overlooked it. You tried to capitalize. But I caught you, you freak. I can beat you. Not forever, but I got this cabin rigged to beat you now!" He slams the door shut.

He hears a sound, like a thump, coming from near the cabin steps. He freezes, like an animal sensing danger. Thunder rumbles. A draft creeps beneath the glass enclosure on the Coleman lantern, causing the flame to dance.

* * *

Melissa peeks out her window, careful not to be seen.

The unmarked F.B.I. sedan maintains surveillance. Fujimoto and Marin sit inside.

Distant, but approaching, thunder rumbles as Melissa steps away from the window. The weight of the world on her shoulders, she paces, considering her options.

She looks to an old frame on her bookshelf. A man in his early thirties holds a six year old girl in his arms, waving to the camera. Both appear happy and alive. They are standing before a cabin surrounded with thick woods. Melissa turns the photograph over. On the back, marked in a young girl's handwriting, it reads, "_me and dad at the cabin. 1996._"

She considers her life-then, now, and what is to come.

* * *

Marin sits in the passenger seat, looking through a pair of binoculars. Fujimoto is behind the wheel.

"She was up there a minute ago," Marin said.

A figure steps in front of the driver's side window from the rear. The two agents are startled as Melissa Wu leans into the window. She pauses, gaining their trustworthiness, then says, "I'm not turning him in. There's another life that needs him now."

The two agents remain respectful.

"I go with you," Melissa said.

"You can't," Marin said back to her.

She considers, then understands. "Don't hurt him."

Marin says, "Tell us where he is. Wait at home, and I promise…we'll bring him back in protective custody."

Melissa senses the agent's sincerity.

* * *

Distant thunder rumbles.

Jackson kindles a fire in the fireplace, balling up old newspapers. He begins to crumble the local news, then pauses, hungry for information about the outside world.

A headline catches his attention. Tense, Jackson hears the rumbling thunder. As he unrolls the paper, his expression is rocked, anxious. He cocks his head to consider, recalling.

The headline reads, "_Parents To Establish Memorial Scholarships_." Beside the headline are two yearbook photos: Christa Marsh and Blake Dreyer.

Jackson's expression reflects a terrified revelation. "I…never moved. Christa asked me to move, but I didn't change seats. I would've moved up…next to Lex. How could I not remember that. I never moved. Melissa's seat was in front of mine." He pauses a beat. "She's next."

* * *

Melissa paces in her living room. She moves to the curtains and checks out the window.

Although it is not raining, lightning cracks across the sky. It strikes the top of a pole, snapping two power lines, which whip in the wind.

In her house, Melissa turns around as the power goes out. The room turns dark. Outside, brilliant bluish-white arc lights crackle. Melissa moves to the window.

The power lines arc, violently striking the ground and each other. Each line whips unpredictably, like an uncontrolled garden hose with the water turned on full. And yet, there's a mean, angry and taunting personality to the two power lines, as if Death were within them.

Melissa assesses the situation and moves a pair of candles on the mantle, lighting them with a match.

From the backyard, a dog barks.

Melissa brings the candle through the small house. She moves quickly to the kitchen, holding the candle. Outside, blue arc light crackles. Melissa looks out the backyard.

An old circular clothesline turns like a pinwheel in the wind. In the center of the yard is an oblong, tarped above-ground pool. In the furthest corner of the yard, her dog is chained to a tree, barking and freaked out. An old tire swings rocks in the storm. From the manner in which the house is situated and the length of the snapped power lines, one of the is capable of reaching the backyard. The power line strikes the ground, closing in on the dog.

Melissa considers the danger of venturing out to get the dog.

Although no window is open, and the power outage has shut off any air conditioning, the candle flame whips, then extinguishes. The blue smoke swirls ominously into the room.

On the clothesline, sharp metal edges spin, glinting blue are light.

* * *

Jackson charges out the front door, leaping over the steps. Several cars are approaching, headlights panning across the trees. Jackson stops dead in his tracks to look, then runs of into the woods just as the F.B.I. unmarked sedan and three sheriff 4x4s thunder up to the cabin, siren lights swirling.

Marin is driving, leading the other vehicles. Fujimoto points out the passenger window. "There," he says.

Through the window, Marin sees Jackson disappear into the dark forest at full sprint.

The cars brake to a stop, skidding in the dirt. Sheriffs leap out of their vehicles. High powered flashlights shoot beams in Jackson's direction. The officers take off after the suspect.

* * *

The backdoor opens. Melissa charges out into the backyard.

The dog is helpless. Its chain is wrapped around the tree.

Thunder rumbles.

Melissa begins to run.

The circular clothesline in whipped by a power line. Sparks fly as the base pole snaps in two. The metal pole plunge into the ground just before and behind Melissa, inches from impaling her. She stumbles, but quickly steps aside and continues toward the tree. The circular clothesline frame, rolled by the winds, soars across the yard toward the above-ground pool, puncturing it. Water streams from the rupture.

Melissa reaches the tree and begins unfastening the dog's collar from the chain.

The power lines, whipping, strike one another, causing an angry flash of electricity. The rivets holding the pools frame begin to break and pop. Water floods into the yard.

* * *

Jackson blindly runs through the forest, the sheriffs' flashlight beams crossing behind him, in pursuit. Looking back to check the position of the agents, Jackson runs over the lip of a downward slope. He rolls and tumbles uncontrollably down the hillside. As he nears the base, he stops with a crunching thud, his face inches from being impaled by a sharp, thick protruding branch. No time to catch his breath, he's up and running.

* * *

Water floods, pooling the backyard, cascading over Melissa's feet. She looks down. In the reflection of the puddle, the dark shadow passes. Melissa whips up, checking the position of the power line, which coils like a cobra, ready to strike.

Melissa drops the chain and gently pushes the dog on his backside. "Run!"

The dog starts to tear off toward the house. Melissa runs toward the hanging tire and leaps.

The power line whips, the frayed wires hitting the puddle of water.

Melissa desperately grabs the tire, hanging on, literally for her life. The dog yelps, safely on the sideline. Melissa turns back to see it is okay.

* * *

Distant flashlights reflect in a small stream, barely two inches deep. Jackson splashes in the water.

Thunder rumbles.

Jackson races along the path of the stream. The sheriffs continue their pursuit through the dark trees.

Lightning cracks a tree branch. Sparks fly. The thick branch tumbles down, falling from above. It lands on top of Jackson. He's knocked to the ground and pinned, face down, in the creek. His face is just below the water line, but he can't move. He struggles, battles to move and avoid drowning in two inches of water.

As he struggles, Marin and a pair of sheriffs appear ten yards beyond him. They pause, confused, panning their flashlights across the forest. The lights actually expose the area where Jackson lies. From their position, however, he is covered by the branch and out of sight.

Jackson struggles to raise his head above the water, chest bursting.

Marin and the sheriffs, believing Jackson is not in the area, move ahead into the woods.

* * *

Melissa pulls herself up to a tree branch. Lightning and thunder continue amongst the arcing, crackling power lines.

She searches for an escape. The tree branch extends toward the house. Straining in the storm, Melissa begins moving up the branch.

* * *

Jackson, taking a tenth of a second to gather all of his strength, all his courage, arches his back, pushing with his hands, anything to lift his face out of the stream.

With a deep gasp, he does so, drinking up the air. It appears to infuse him with another blast of adrenaline as he manages to push with his arms and free himself from the pinning tree branch.

He pauses, only for a couple gulps of air, and is off.

* * *

Melissa leaps from the end of the branch to her window, grabbing the sill awkwardly, dangling outside the house. With a breath, she pulls herself inside, just as the power line bites, arcing, at her feet.

* * *

Marin looks around, frustrated. Into the radio, he says, "Lost him."

In another part of the forest, Fujimoto desperately scans the forest. "From the direction, there's only one place he could be heading."

* * *

The power lines strike the rooftop.

Melissa Wu stands in her bedroom, just as it fills with blinding blue light. Her television screen blows out. Sparks jet across the room. Blasts of flame erupt from the electrical outlets. She quickly turns, racing towards the hallway.

Sparks explode from the lamps and electrical outlets as she runs. She falls and covers her head to protect it. Quickly deciding that staying here isn't safe, she jumps to her feet, cutting and leaping, three stairs at a time, down the staircase.

* * *

Jackson tears across the fenceless backyards toward Melissa's house. He sees blue arc light glowing in the distance, coming from her front yard.

* * *

An old corolla is parked amongst Melissa's artwork in the garage. A door, adjacent to the kitchen, flies open. Melissa hustles through, running to the car and entering via the passenger door, for the sake of expediency.

The power lines whack angrily against the garage door.

Melissa scoots into the driver's seat. She clicks the automatic garage door opener. Its motor, connected to a metal arm, attached to the door, remains motionless. There is no power.

Realizing the motor is dead, Melissa takes a beat, starts the engine, and shifts into reverse.

* * *

Jackson reaches Melissa's backyard. He quickly tries to deduce the deadly situation, running back into the trees.

* * *

Melissa guns the small car into reverse. As the rear of the car makes impact with the door, the garage opener trembles. The long metal arm collapses and falls.

Bam! In reverse, the corolla smashes through the garage door.

The metal arm of the garage door opener rips through the windshield, locking upon the windshield wiper grille. The other end remains attached to the garage roof interior, essentially acting as an anchor.

The car shudders, wheels spinning uselessly as the arm holds onto the car.

The screws holding the arm to the ceiling begin to pull away. A metal can on a shelf is rocked as, the car rattles the garage, trying to break free. The can is marked "_turpentine: extremely flammable_." The can tumbles over the shelf. The can smacks on the floor, edgewise, revealing the can is sealed tight with a cap.

The thick cable arcs, snapping toward the car.

Foot to the floor, Melissa screams for the car to move.

The door opener motor pulls away from the ceiling. The corolla lurches backwards, freed from the grasp of the house.

A chunk of the ceiling collapses upon Melissa's artworks, including the canvas incorporating a jagged piece of debris from Flight 180. The metal slams to the floor on top of the can of turpentine, which causes the flammable liquid to stream out, toward the driveway.

As the corolla lurches away from the house down the sloped driveway, the power line thuds upon Melissa's car, causing an ear-splitting crackle. Sparks fly. The electrical system of the small car erupts, and the engine dies. The car stops.

Jackson appears from the rear of the house, reacting to the situation. "Don't move," he yells to Melissa.

The power line sadistically rests atop the automobile. The exposed end of the cable flutters and whips like a cat's tail, sparkling, crackling, as it hit's the ground.

Melissa looks up desperately to Jackson, who extends his hands.

Cars approach thunderously.

"You're grounded by the tires. Don't touch anything. Don't move," Jackson said.

The unmarked F.B.I. vehicle and two sheriff patrol cars pull up on the street. Fujimoto and Marin hustle out of the car. "Cody, get away from there!" Marin yells. "Any part of that line touches you, you're dead," Fujimoto calls.

The power line snaps in Jackson's direction. He lurches back.

The stream of turpentine is ignited by a single spark from the power line. It flows toward the car.

Jackson backs away, eyes locked on Melissa's, assuring she's remaining in the car. Melissa keeps her eyes locked on Jackson, watching him.

Suddenly, a burst of flame flashes. Jackson reacts, shocked. The underbelly of the corolla has ignited from the stream of combustible fluid. He realizes. "The car's gonna explode!"

Fujimoto and Marin step forward.

The power line on the hood of the car whips, arcs, warning everyone away.

Melissa can see the flames. Her instinct is to grab the handle to get out.

Jackson steps closer. "No!" he says, stopping Melissa from touching the door handle.

"Get back! You'll both die." Marin calls.

Hearing this, Jackson's mind is made up. He looks to Melissa. "I can only hold on for so long. You know what to do."

"Don't!" Melissa cries.

"When I do this…it'll have skipped you…and it will all be over," Jackson said.

"No!" Melissa yells, voice shaking. "Don't!"

"Melissa, I am not going to let it beat us both. You know what to do." In a calmer, quieter voice, Jackson says, "I'll always be with you." With that, he walks to the front of the car, preparing himself, staring Death in the eyes.

"No!" Melissa shrieks.

Jackson reaches out and grabs the power line, falling back to pull it away from the hood of the car. The cable arcs furiously.

Melissa opens the driver's side door and runs out, knocked to her feet as, behind her, the car explodes.

Jackson is engulfed in the flames. Through them, as if sensing the oncoming horror, defying the image, he screams, "No!" He looks toward Melissa. She is the last thing he saw.

The power line erupts. Jackson disappears behind the wall of fire and sparks before falling limp on the driveway

Fujimoto, Marin, and paramedics rush to the girl. Fujimoto turns back, calling out to a paramedic, helplessly watching by the burning car. "Is he alive?" he called.

Melissa's eyes flash open, horrified at the answer.

A web of lightning cracks across the Heavens, as if Death was making a final angry proclamation.

The agents exchange rattled expressions that convey their unease in the proof that Jackson was right.

As a pair of paramedics work on Melissa, a soft breeze blows across the girl, and only the girl. Her eyes open, welled with tears, seeming to realize…to sense….he is gone.


	21. The Chronicles Of Life And Death

Melissa screams, a reaction to the pain of delivering her child.

Doctors and nurses stand between Melissa's legs in the stirrups. "A little more. Little more."

Melissa breathes and pushes hard. Jackson's parents stand on either side of her, holding her hand, wiping her forehead.

The doctor cuts the umbilical cord. "He's here. A beautiful boy."

Melissa, Ken, and Barbara smile, failing to fight back tears. Melissa begins laughing euphorically through the tears. "I felt him! When the baby was born…I felt Jackson pass through me…like the night he died."

She lifts her head up to look at the boy, still battling the pain of labor. The baby is covered in goop, eyes shut…a new life arrives.

A doctor looks at the clock and reports to an attending nurse. Another nurse cleans up the baby, weighs him, and places him in a hospital bassinet.

"Thirteenth of April…four-twenty-five p.m.," The doctor said.

Barbara places a cool wet clothe on Melissa's forehead. "Exactly a year…to the minute."

Everyone realizes the eerie, yet beautiful, coincidence.

Melissa leans her head back, relieved, euphoric. "We beat it, Jackson."

Cleaned and wrapped in a swaddling blanket, the baby is placed in the mother's arms. Melissa looks at the I.D. bracelet. It reads, "_Cody Dallas Jackson II_."

* * *

A bright, colorful arrangement of flowers is carefully placed into a vase.

Jackson's bedroom is now lived in by Melissa and the baby. Melissa makes the final adjustment in the arrangement, then checks the sleeping baby in the bassinet. She moves to her bed with a book. She settles, then feels a faint rustle. Melissa looks to the flowers. A soft breeze causes the petals to flutter. She looks toward the windows, which are closed, then the fan, which is off. She looks across the room. The breeze moves through the flowers…billows the curtains, posters and photos on the wall…until seemingly settling over the bassinet. The lace trim and blankets rustled by the breeze. It is hovering over the child.

Melissa's reflection does not reflect fear. She knows Jackson is here. She smiles, tears welling in her eyes.

The bassinet trim settles, as if the presence is leaving. Before it fully departs, the wind softly and rapidly passes over Melissa. Her smile remains as the rooms becomes still, and her eyes look across the room.

On the wall is a pencil rubbing, like people take away from Vietnam veteran's Memorial. Melissa reads, "_Cody Jackson_."

* * *

"_Cody Jackson_" is marked in the granite of the memorial, along with "_Lex Waggner_," "_Jory Twist_," "_Taylor Hagan_," and "_Eric McGorrill_."

Nathan's fingers hover in space before they gently trace over "Taylor Hagan." He stares at the name. Alone, he allows himself the moment to grieve. Nathan glances up to find Melissa approaching with the baby in the stroller. He straightens up and nods, then begins to walk away. Nathan hesitates, then turns back to Melissa. "Jackson looks up." Melissa looked up, surprised that Nathan called Cody Jackson by his last name. "It did skip us," Nathan continued.

Melissa smiled as she takes the baby out of the stroller. "I believe…that's what Jackson believed. But how do we know…this wasn't the design all along?" She holds baby Cody up to the monument, showing her son his father's name. Nathan stands, watching.

At the base, in barely readable, but understandable, lettering, "_Flight 180_."

One day, each of us will return to the awaiting darkness.

* * *

_Credit goes to "Final Destination."_

_Thanks to all of my readers, especially jelissalover, adversary2113, pretty young thing, Amethyst Princess 27, DonPianta, SPNlover308, Sugar144, and sarah._


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